


If We Were Honest

by gracie137



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Clubbing, Dumb Banter, Falling In Love, Flirting, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Pretentious Slytherins, Queer Themes, Reconciliation, Romance, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Switching, Writer Draco Malfoy, queer pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/pseuds/gracie137
Summary: Two years ago, Draco and Harry had a whirlwind secret romance that ended in heart-break. Since then Draco's written a best-selling novel based on their relationship, but with one key difference—the characters get a happily ever after. Now Harry and Draco are reunited for the first time since their break-up, but can they rewrite their own ending?





	If We Were Honest

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Dirty Little Secret_ by The All-American Rejects
> 
> This fic has been a ride and a half to write, and wouldn't have been possible without two amazing people. First of all A for letting me cry at them about the plot, and secondly T for helping turn this mess into a readable fic (and for also letting me cry at them about the plot). I apologise in advance for any Latin errors, its been a couple of years since I studied it.
> 
> I have poured literal blood, sweat and tears into this fic at this point and I do hope you enjoy it!!

**Present**

“I think I need another drink,” Pansy drawls.

“Story of my life,” Draco says, staring out over the crowd gathered in the Ministry Ballroom.

There’s an itch under his skin, a dull buzz in his head unrelated to the copious glasses of champagne he has poured down his throat.

This itch isn’t simply the side effect of standing in a room full of people either. It’s something greater — the knowledge Harry is nearby.

Draco isn’t paying full attention to what Pansy is saying; his eyes have caught on Harry who is over by Madeline Ollivander, Granger, and Weasley close by his sides. Granger is talking to Madeline, her hands flying about as she speaks. Draco isn’t sure if the size of the gestures is due to her enthusiasm about the topic or the amount of champagne she’d had.

Harry and Weasley stand off to the side, easy smiles on both their faces. Draco imagines they’re passing lazy barbs back and forth, mocking the rest of the crowd. Harry’s voice would be low and slow, his laugh soft. Draco doesn’t need to be near him to know Harry is wearing a conspirator’s smile, a smirk that curls at the corner of his mouth and grows to expose the top row of his teeth. It’s a smile that whispers of adventure and promises excitement.

Draco’s heart clenches and he turns away before Harry can spot him staring. Draco meant what he’d said the last time they were together: he couldn’t keep doing whatever they were doing. He couldn’t keep being Harry’s dirty little secret.

“Draco.”

Draco turns to find Astoria Greengrass beaming at him.

“Hello, Astoria,” Draco says, kissing her hand and smirking when she rolls her eyes at him, “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” Astoria says, swatting his shoulder fondly. They’re long past their awkward dalliance of _“Are our parents going to make us get married or not?”_ and are firm friends. “And anyway, my congratulations are in order.”

“For?”

“The book,” Astoria says, “it’s brilliant.”

The book.

Draco nods, working to keep his traitorous gaze from wandering over to where Harry stands.

“Thank you,” Draco says.

“I had no idea you could write like that,” Astoria says, “literally I felt everything when I read it! I laughed, I cried, I sighed! And I died at the ending! It was amazing!”

“Wasn’t it?” Pansy says, “that ending was phenomenal.”

“Right?”

“Thank you,” Draco repeats, “I’m flattered.”

“Now you turn modest,” Pansy scoffs, “revel in your brilliance.”

“I’m not so adverse to the praise,” Draco says, smirking.

“Honestly Draco, it was fantastic!” Astoria says. “So, are you going to tell me who the mysterious you is?” she adds slyly.

Draco rubs his thumb across his signet ring. “It’s part of the mystery.”

“Are you being serious?” Astoria turns to Pansy, who glares at him. Draco smiles sweetly back.

“He hasn’t even told me who it’s about.”

“In libras libertas,” Draco says, raising his glass to them both and downing the last of his champagne.

“Mens regnum bona possidet,” Pansy counters. Draco tips his glass to her in appreciation.

For all her jokes, Pansy is hurt he hasn’t confided in her. However, Draco hasn’t told anyone about who the _you_ is he’d dedicated the book to; he hadn’t told anyone about whom had inspired the book.

He’s still keeping Harry’s secret — their secret.

He’d started writing the book during their relationship, blurring the events of reality and fiction. He’d had to change the details so that no-one would know the truth. Although no-one was going to suspect The Saviour had been involved in an intimate relationship with an ex-Death Eater for over a year anyway.

The papers had proclaimed his novel ground-breaking, _‘A celebration of humanity’_. A look at the vulnerability of post-war life and the vulnerability of falling in love.

Draco wonders if they’d be so keen to praise it if they knew the truth.

He’s yet to speak to Harry about his book. He doesn’t even know if he’d read it.

The wounds left when he and Harry ended have yet to close, and Harry’s proximity has them aching. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore though. It’s been two years since they ended and Draco’s become accustomed to living without Harry again — the book had helped.

Draco’s done what Harry asked: he’s kept their secrets. This book had been for him, a cathartic purging of his thoughts and emotions. He’d hoped it would help him get over Harry…

“I need another drink,” Draco says, raising his empty glass to Pansy and Astoria, and wandering through the crowds in search of a waiter.

He makes sure to keep his eyes off Harry. The words of his novel’s dedication on repeat in his head.

_Dear You, I gave us a happy ending in this one._

Hating Harry is all-consuming, but loving him is life destroying.

* * *

**Past**

 

The sink was cold against Draco’s fingers as he clutched it to stop swaying. He supposed he’d drunk too much… again.

Draco groaned, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the mirror, only a fleeting thought about how disgusting that probably was.

He leaned back and stuck his tongue out at the mirror. His tongue was stained green from alcopops, and his mouth tugged up in a half-smile at the sight.

He ought to get back out and try find Theo — unless Theo had already left with someone.

Picking up his drink from the floor, Draco tipped it in cheers to his own reflection and stumbled out of the bathroom.

“Looking good, mate,” someone slurred, clapping Draco on the shoulder as they passed.

“Thanks,” Draco said, laughing as he walked back toward the balcony.

He paused, letting his eyes scan the crowd and taking in the sweaty bodies and featureless faces. Everything blurred in moments like this. It was a nice break for him. A moment to breathe.

He loved these Muggle clubs and their cheery music. He didn’t particularly know the songs, and he didn’t know the people at all, but he liked that. He relished being anonymous.

He’d always wanted people to know his name and now he’d do anything for them to forget it.

Draco wandered back down the stairs, his body loose and his heart beating in time with the bass. He liked nights like this where he was able to escape his thoughts and become nothing more than a physical body. He’d forget his past and everything but his own name as he danced.

He moved onto the dance floor, body pressing against the nameless strangers, letting himself be pulled closer to a taller man with thick dark hair and a charming smile.

“Drink?” the man yelled over the music, his mouth wet against the skin under Draco’s ear.

“I’d love one,” he said, words slow and heavy in his mouth as he let the man take his hand and lead him over to the bar.

Draco leaned against the bar, appreciating the respite from the press of the crowd as the man ordered two obscenely named cocktails.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice came from beside him.

“Sor—” Draco started, turning to make room for the stranger, only to find words failing him as he found himself face-to-face with Harry Potter.

Potter wasn’t any more eloquent as he stood there, eyes bulging and mouth gaping.

Draco’s tongue was limp as he forgot how to breathe, his eyes darting between Potter and the dance floor, trying to figure out if he could make a break for it without actually having to speak to Potter.

Potter had grown up in the three years since the war and was looking more handsome than ever. Draco had always been irritatingly aware of the fact Potter was attractive in his own way, and victory looked good on Potter.

His jaw was squarer, his shoulders broader, and his skin clearer. Draco remembered Potter at the end of the war, all paper skin and glass bones. He’d looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over. When the Snatchers had brought Potter to the Manor, Potter hadn’t looked like the strong hero Draco had been imagining. He’d looked like a boy who was scared and uncertain. Someone out of their depth. He’d looked how Draco felt.

This Potter was deserving of _Witch Weekly’s_ Most Eligible Bachelor award.

“Fuck me.” Potter laughed, shaking his head. Draco could feel Potter’s eyes sweeping over him, and he became aware of his still too-pointy face. His body composed of sharp edges and harsh lines. “What are you doing here?”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the man who was now gazing at him expectantly, an eyebrow raised. “I was just getting a drink.”

“No,” Potter said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. Draco noted the familiar notes of the chorus — he was becoming more acquainted with Muggle popular music. “What are you doing _here_?”

“In a Muggle gay club?” Draco supposed it did seem a bit bizarre.

The corner of Potter’s mouth quirked. “Yeah.”

“Well, I think part of the answer is pretty self-explanatory,” Draco said, the alcohol fueling his words, providing him with the backbone he wasn’t sure he would otherwise possess. “And the other reason is because I like being forgettable.”

“Forgettable?”

“You know,” Draco said, waving his hand airily not wanting to finish the sentence.

Potter stared at him for a moment before smiling. “Yeah, I know.”

Against his will Draco smiled back. Potter’s shirt was tight around his shoulders and stained orange from a drink, and he should look ridiculous, but instead all Draco could think about was how he wanted to spell Potter’s shirt from his body.

Draco tried to clear his mind. Thinking about fucking Potter had been the bane of his teenage life and he refused to spend any more time dwelling on the fantasies, because that’s all they’d ever be… fantasies.

“You here alone?”

Draco glanced at the man behind him who was now staring at him with a bitter twist to his mouth. Draco turned back to Potter, catching him flicking the man a disinterested look. “I’m here with Theo, but I reckon he’s buggered off.”

“Theo?”

“Theodore Nott,” Draco classified, rolling his eyes. Of course, Potter didn’t know who Theo was, he probably hadn’t deemed him worthy of his attention at school.

“Oh yeah,” Potter said, shooting Draco a rueful smile. He had a dimple Draco noticed, and when the bright lights flashed their way Draco could make out a smattering of freckles across Potter’s nose and the high arches of his cheeks. “I was here with Seamus and Dean, but they’ve gone.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he’d never noticed the dimple before. He presumed it was because he’d never been so close to Potter’s smile before. Now that he thought about it, Potter had never smiled at him, certainly not in the way he was now. Warm and easy, and something more that if it were anyone else … flirtatious.

Firm fingers dug into his shoulder and Draco turned his head to see the first man staring at him. “You coming or what?”

Draco glanced back at Potter, his heart skipping at the mischievous grin on Potter’s face. The challenge in the curve of his plump lips as he wordlessly dared Draco to stay with him.

Draco was never one to turn down a challenge from Potter.

“No, I’m good here,” he said, biting his lip to stop himself laughing from the outrage on the man’s face as he stormed off, the two obnoxious cocktails spilling as he went.

Draco turned back to Potter, laughing at the childlike glee on Potter’s face. It felt surreal to be standing there sharing a joke with Potter, like something from a dream.

He imagined if they’d met sober it would have gone differently.

“This is weird,” he said.

“It is,” Potter nodded, still smiling. “Want to dance?”

“Are you joking?”

“I know you never liked my sense of humour, but it isn’t that poor.”

Draco blinked before realising Potter was teasing him. He let out a small laugh and pushed away from the bar, grinning at the way Potter followed him into the centre of the dance floor.

They began dancing, the press of the crowd moving them closer and closer together.

Potter’s hungry gaze made Draco feel heady and powerful; the first touch of Potter’s hands on him set him alight. Draco relished the burn.

Potter hands were on his hips, sliding up to his ribs and lifting the edges of Draco’s shirt up as they moved.

A small part of his brain told him he shouldn’t be doing this, because this was Potter. Potter who had pushed every button, who had been a thorn in Draco’s skin he’d never been able to remove.

Potter who was a war hero. _The_ war hero. The wizarding world’s Saviour, but Draco didn’t care about that. He wanted Potter in a way he’d never wanted anyone before.

Potter looked electric in the light, the neon lights sliding off his cheekbones as he pulled Draco closer, thumbs looping under Draco’s belt.

His breath hitched as Potter closed the gap between their bodies, alcohol setting all of Draco’s nerves on fire. The press of Potter’s hips against his, his sweaty forehead resting against Draco’s own. At some point they’d stopped dancing.

Draco broke the stillness first, his hands sliding up Potter’s arms, fingers skimming the dark hairs. He moved his hands until he reached Potter’s chest, and then he stopped.

Draco’s hand rested against Potter’s chest, and he could feel Potter’s heart pounding in time to the music. Potter’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he stared at Draco, chest heaving.

To Draco it felt like time had stopped, but everyone else was still moving. He didn’t understand how they could be unaware of what was happening. Couldn’t they feel it in the air?

Draco stopped breathing at the first sensation of Potter rolling his hips, the movement illicit and forbidden. Potter’s lips were red from whatever he’d been drinking and Draco wondered if his own mouth matched. Would Potter’s lips be even more red after being kissed?

Kissed.

Draco wanted to kiss Potter so badly, his hands moving as Potter rolled his hips again and again. There was a question in the movement for Draco to answer. Draco slid his hands across Potter’s jaw, and the corner of Potter’s mouth curled up in a smile. His eyes were hooded as he watched Draco, the intensity of his gaze brighter than any of the club lights. Potter moved his hips, his fingers brushing Draco’s skin as his shirt rose up. Another question, one maddening question Draco answered by leaning in and claiming Potter’s lips.

It seemed to be the right answer.

Their kiss was every bit as all-consuming as their fights had been, all lingering hatred burning away to lust.

Potter tasted like raspberry and artificial watermelon, and Draco thought he was more intoxicating than any alcohol. Potter’s kiss was wet and firm, his tongue tangling with Draco’s.

A lifetime of idiotic and reckless decisions and none of them seemed to come close to how idiotic and reckless kissing Harry Potter was.

“Want to go somewhere?” Potter asked, pulling back enough that Draco could see his slick lips and wide eyes.

“Okay,” he said because in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. “Yeah,” he said as Potter’s mouth curled up into a hypnotic grin, his slightly crooked teeth catching in the lights.

“Yeah,” Potter echoed, taking Draco’s hand and entwining their fingers. Draco gazed at them, Potter’s thick fingers beside his own.

“Yeah,” Draco said because he was drunk enough that he couldn’t think of saying anything else.

Potter led him through the crowd and outside the club, holding his hand the entire time.

The cold March air pricked at Draco’s skin, and Draco wished he’d thought to bring a jacket. He stopped caring about the cold when Potter pushed him up against the wall and kissed him so fiercely that it seemed he’d been convinced Draco was a mirage. Draco clung to Potter’s shoulders to stop his knees from giving way before laughing as Potter stepped back.

He looked alive and bright under the street lights, his scar white across his forehead. It made him look unreal, like the legend people whispered about. Draco leaned in to chase Potter’s lips, laughing again as he did so.

“Something funny?” Potter asked, hand catching Draco’s chest and pausing him. Draco smirked at Potter’s grin.

“This.”

“So you’re laughing at me?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I be offended?”

Draco shook his head, twisting his hand in Potter’s shirt and pulling him closer again. Potter’s leg slipped in between his thighs and Draco let his lips ghost along Potter’s neck. “No,” he said, pressing a kiss to Potter’s neck before leaning back a little too far and banging his head against the wall. A dull ache spread down his neck. He rolled his eyes when Potter snickered. “It’s just, we’re a bit bizarre aren’t we?”

“We’re very bizarre,” Potter said, and his tone was serious even though he was smiling. Smiling at Draco in a way Draco liked —  no one had smiled at him like that for a long time.

“There is nothing logical about it,” Draco breathed, opening his mouth to say something else about how stupid they were being when Potter ground his hips firmly against Draco’s. A moan fell from Draco’s lips as his head dropped against Potter’s shoulder and Potter did it again, slowly and deliberately circling his hips.

Draco was already half-hard but the feeling of Potter’s own hardening cock against his sent his body into overdrive.

“Mine?” Draco asked. “I don’t live too far from here.”

Potter smirked. “What about logic?”

“Fuck logic,” Draco laughed, as they stumbled together down the street.

Draco thankfully didn’t live too far from the club so it was only about a thirty minute walk.

“Do you live alone?” Potter asked as he stepped into Draco’s flat.

“Yeah,” Draco said, fidgeting under the bright lights of his home. Potter gave him an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So…” Draco said before regretting it. Potter flushed and they were both miles away from standing in the streets of London, so caught up in the essence of each other that their drunken brains had over-ridden the history that lay between them. Every sneer and harsh word, every hex and hit. There was bad blood between them in every way, and did they think fucking was the way to fix it all?

“Want a tour?” Draco’s mouth flattened as he cringed at the sound of his own voice.

“Sure?”

Draco led Potter through the hallway, pushing open the doors to the kitchen and then the living room before pausing and letting Potter stare around the room. He left the dining room out because his Spell-Writer was there and Draco didn’t want Potter asking questions.

 _“Yeah I consider myself a writer,”_ seemed too embarrassing and intimate to share.

“Nice place,” Potter said because it was appropriate to say.

Draco’s place was nice; however, it was also a mess.

Draco hadn’t thought everything through. He should have tidied up more. There were piles of books leaning precariously all around the room, both fiction and non-fiction from his latest reference session. He’d been trying to find an idea to write about, something he could really drive forward. He was finding it hard to stick to one.

Coffee cups and plates littered the room, stacked on the arm of his sofa, and Draco felt an embarrassing need to vanish them away. Perhaps he ought to ask his mother if he could borrow one of the house-elves.

“Wasn’t expecting company,” Draco muttered, but when he turned to look at Potter, Potter was staring around the place with a soft smile on his face.

“Nah,” Potter said, “I like it.”

Potter turned to face him and Draco watched the movement of Potter’s throat as he swallowed. The music of the club still rang in his ears, and the alcohol lingered in his veins, but his desire was no longer a desperate and all-consuming thing. He felt sleepy and slow.

Potter licked his lips, and Draco shrugged as they both let out nervous laughs.

“Do you have any food?” Potter asked.

“I can make us pasta?”

“I’d murder some pasta,” Potter said, letting Draco lead him back to the kitchen. Draco felt a weight that he wasn’t aware of leaving his shoulders. Sleeping with Potter had seemed like a good idea in the moment, but in the light of the flat perhaps it wasn’t.

Later, Potter leaned back on his chair, palm resting against the edge of the table. They were sat side by side in the kitchen, large glasses of water in front of them and a huge bowl of cheesy pesto pasta between them.

Conversation had been easy, trading remarks that were sharp enough to make the other work but not sharp enough to make him bleed.

“What do you do with your time?” Potter asked, picking up a piece of pasta with his fingers and grinning at the disdain on Draco’s face as he popped it into his mouth.

“This,” Draco said, “go out and get drunk, live the life I was too afraid to live after the war.”

“That sounds like alcoholism,” Potter said, taking another piece of pasta. Draco was already full.

Draco batted Potter’s hand away when he tried again. “And what are you doing differently?”

Potter paused before shrugging. “Nothing I guess, I do charity work.”

“Of course, you do.”

“You do it too?!”

“Do I?”

Potter shrugged again, giving Draco an awkward smile. “Yeah, saw in the papers.”

Draco grinned. “Nice to know you’re still keeping tabs on me.”

“Fuck off,” Potter laughed.

“Anyway,” Draco continued, “It’s surprising that I do charity work, I’m big bad Draco Malfoy. You’re Saint Potter, it’s not surprising.”

“You are surprising,” Potter said. Draco looked away, the words more intimate than anything else they’d done. He liked the idea of surprising Potter. “Am I really not surprising?” Potter asked.

Draco stared at Potter, whose eyes were hooded and heavy as if he were rolling the question over in his mind. Potter covered his mouth with his hand to hide his yawn, but Draco caught the movement and laughed.

“You’ve always surprised me, Potter. Now do you want to go to sleep?”

“I—” Potter said.

Draco became painfully aware he had no idea what to do now. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep with Potter, he did, just… not yet. He was tired now, and his body ached.

“You’re welcome to sleep in my bed, but that’s all I’d liked to do for now, just sleep,” Draco said, playing with the hem of his jumper.

“Yeah, I’d like to just sleep for now as well,” Potter said, meeting Draco’s eyes again before smiling.

The _for now’s_ hung between them. Promising of more to come.

Draco smiled back, the rigidness of his back fading. “Yeah, okay.”

“This is madness,” Potter muttered as Draco led him into his room and turned on the lights.

“When have our lives ever been anything but?”

Potter obviously couldn’t argue with that, so he accepted the pyjama top Draco offered him.

“I thought they’d be something stupid like silk,” Potter admitted as he slid the cotton top over his head. Draco felt his throat dry at the sight of Potter’s chest, the tanned skin and dark wiry hair. The soft pouch of Potter’s stomach that made Draco feel better about his own too-skinny body.

Draco recovered enough to strip off his own shirt and pick up an old Hellebore top t from when he had gone to their gig last year with Theo and Blaise. “As if I’d give you my silk set.”

“Ouch,” Potter said, turning and taking one more look around Draco’s room.

Draco glanced around at pictures of his parents, of him and his friends as children, of Pansy and him at Hogwarts, Theo in France, and many more. The books piled up in colourful stacks on the floor, spilling off of the slim bookshelf in the corner. A mug and plate on the chest of drawers.

Draco pulled his jeans off leaving him in his boxers and climbed into bed, catching a glimpse of Potter’s firm thighs as Potter did the same. They lay in bed staring at each other, and Draco took the moment to memorise the lines of Potter’s face before casting _Nox_.

“This is going to be so weird when we wake up tomorrow, isn’t it?” Potter laughed, his foot brushing Draco’s shin.

“Go to sleep,” Draco grumbled, which meant yes, yes it is.

* * *

**Present**

 

Staring at the bubbles in his glass, Draco sighs. He’s tired and he wants to go home. He supposes he was foolish to think attending tonight was going to be easy. He knew Harry would be here. However, Draco isn’t here for Harry. This is _his_ night.

The thought makes him smile. Draco Malfoy winning an award for raising awareness about sexuality. _A champion_ , _The Wand_ had called him. _Inspiringly brave_ , _The Eclipse_ had cried.

Draco Malfoy, a brave champion for non-hetrosexual witches and wizards across Europe (and possibly America).

Draco’s imagines his father rolling in his grave. Draco’s bringing glory back to the Malfoy name, only doing it by being publically gay. The conflict over what to think of this recent development would have probably caused Lucius’s heart to give out — if that guard hadn’t gotten there first.

Draco closes his eyes and doesn’t let himself dwell on his father’s murder because it still hurts. Draco knows what will happen if he wanders down this path. He’ll question himself and everything he now stands for, because at the end of the day a part of him loves and misses his father, and how can he possibly be the man he claims to be now if he still loves a man like Lucius?

“Draco Malfoy!”

The heavily affected Southern accent starts Draco from his thoughts, and he turns to find Slughorn beaming at him. The irony of Slughorn gearing himself up to kiss Draco’s feet now that he is an accepted member of society does not escape Draco. And Slughorn is gearing himself up; Draco can see it in the strain of his smile and the excessive affection of his voice trying to mimic Draco’s own monied tones. However, Draco finds the false flattery amusing and so pastes on a smile of his own.

He’s born and bred for moments like this.

“Hello, Sir,” Draco drawls, extending his hand. Slughorn takes it eagerly, squeezing Draco’s hand and pumping it up and down. He’s an interesting shade of rouge that his plum robes do little to help.

Draco smoothes down his own robes, midnight blue with tiny flecks of bright colours that come out under the right lighting. He’d worked hard to ensure he wore the perfect outfit: nothing too garish but something that symbolized the cause for which he was receiving his award. Robes that represented him.

“Enough with this ‘Sir’ nonsense,” Slughorn chortles, “or I’ll have to refer to you as ‘Mr Malfoy’.”

Draco refrains from sneering, but it takes effort. His father died a couple of years back, and Draco doesn’t know when he’ll feel comfortable officially being the Mr Malfoy. Also, Slughorn grates on his nerves. “Very well, Horace,” Draco says, just to watch Slughorn’s face light up. Slughorn doesn’t disappoint, and if anything Draco notes he turns an even more unique shade of red.

“That’s much better, my boy,” Slughorn says, “This ball is rather fantastic isn’t it? I wasn’t sure about it last year,” Draco ignores the slight dig at his sexuality, “but a celebration for those campaigning for equal rights to love across the magical community seems so splendid. And the decorations are beautiful. I, of course secured an invite off Hermione Granger herself, after my help with—”

Draco tunes out and lets Slughorn monologue.

Draco loves the decorations, the chandeliers that cast rainbows across the room as the crystals catch the light. Garlands of flowers of every colour ringing the large pillars holding up the ceiling — his mother would love them if she were here — and the ceiling that is charmed to mirror the night sky has stars shooting across it, with rainbows as their comet tails. All of it is beautiful, a celebration of difference. It’s only the Ministry’s second Pride Gala, and Draco is honoured to be invited.

He still can’t believe after fearing for so many years that he would have to repress it all forever — settling down with a wife and having a child, sticking to dalliances on the side — that he’s allowed to be free.

“Harry!” Slughorn bellows cheerily.

Draco’s blood freezes and his heart stops, tripping over itself as Draco’s brain is unable to register anything but Harry, Harry, Harry.

“Do come over and talk to us. You and Draco were old school chums were you not? I was just telling Draco here about the veela work I was doing with your Hermione…”

“I wouldn’t let her hear you call her my Hermione,” Harry laughs awkwardly. Draco doesn’t understand how Slughorn can’t hear that Harry’s laugh clearly falls short. It’s humourless, and Draco hates the sound.

He remembers the way Harry laughed when they were together: the time they got caught in the snow or when they accidentally ended up at some ridiculous Muggle Motor show. He remembers nights together, legs entwined and bodies hot. He remembers perching on Harry’s kitchen counter in nothing but his boxers and one of Harry’s awful hoodies. Harry moving between his legs, hands sliding up Draco’s thighs, and the warmth of his laugh.

Draco forces the memories aside. He’s past pining after Harry like a hopeless dog.

“Do you two remember how competitive you used to be? Oh what good fun it all was.”

Draco stares at Slughorn with his mouth slightly ajar. “Fun?”

“Yes,” Slughorn beams, “jostling on the Quidditch pitch, fighting for first place in my classes. I do love a little back-and-forth myself. Healthy rivalry is one of the best motivators. Rachel Barnes, an old student of mine, and now one of the leading Mind Healers says that, and I don’t want to put words into her mouth, but I must say I helped her come to that conclusion.”

Draco can’t close his mouth as he continues to stare at Slughorn, trying to comprehend how Slughorn could have misremembered their school years so horribly.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Harry says, and Draco finally turns to look at him. Harry’s eyes meet his, and Draco refuses to let himself crumble.

* * *

**Past**

 

Draco hated himself for going back to the same Muggle gay club where he’d met Potter.

Draco leaned against the bar, finishing off his cocktail and waiting. Waiting and clinging to the single chance Potter may be as desperate as him.

Draco had not stopped thinking about Potter since last Friday night and had spent all week hunched over his desk scribbling away at descriptions of flashing colours and moving hands. He wondered if he ought to thank Potter for helping his muse return.

However, he didn’t want to thank Potter for worming his way into his head. He didn’t want to thank Potter for anything... but he did want to see him again.

Just for tonight. That was the agreement Draco had made with himself. If Potter didn’t show then Draco would wipe the other night from his mind, consider it a blip.

A wonderful, maddening blip, but a blip nonetheless. He couldn’t go back to obsessing over Potter with his every thought. He also couldn’t go back to living as if he didn’t know how Potter kissed, as if he didn’t know how Potter tasted and the sounds he made when he was turned on. Potter’s firm hands on his body was a sensation that would linger until Draco was old and grey.

He couldn’t walk away from it without one final try.

Admittedly, lurking in a club Potter might attend was a bit of a pathetic attempt, but Draco was doing his best.

Potter had left last week dropping what sounded like a hint that he’d be back.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure if he was reaching, but Potter’s “Maybe I’ll see you around” had to mean something.

“What are you doing over here?” Theo panted, nudging Draco’s hip with his own.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the pink glitter now smeared across Theo’s cheeks. “Et tu?” Draco countered instead of answering. He’d invited Theo along knowing Theo would ditch him when he spotted a guy he liked.

Theo laughed. “If you can still answer me in Latin then you haven’t drunk enough.”

“If you can’t answer me in Latin your tutor wasn’t good enough.”

“Semper ad meliora,” Theo said, winking at a couple of men who were staring at them. Draco smirked when Theo turned back to him. “Do I pass your test?”

“With flying colours, now carpe noctem,” Draco said, signalling the bartender over for another drink.

“Wasn’t it noctem?” Theo questioned, leaning against Draco’s side. Theo used to be made up of as many sharp angles as Draco, but the years had smoothed him out. He was sleek now, not as jagged as Draco.

“That’s what I said,” Draco replied, acknowledging perhaps a club wasn’t the best place to engage in pure-blood games. The music was too loud; Draco could hardly hear himself think.

He paid for their drinks and let Theo drag him back into the throng of people. There was no point waiting there for Potter, and he had no intention of looking desperate — completely desperate anyway.

Tonight was a glitter theme, and the glitter was everywhere,  streaked across people’s faces and bodies. The entire night was outlandish as men of all shapes and sizes danced in unmissable colours.

Draco took Theo’s hand and the two of them danced, twisting and turning under the bright lights until Draco could hardly think and his mind blurred with colours and smiles and the beat of the song, thudding and thudding.

It wasn’t long until Theo picked up a short man with ginger hair and disappeared back to the bar. Soon after he vanished, Draco tired of dancing with nameless strangers and staggered off to the loo.

He pissed, careful to pick a urinal with no questionable stains, and went to wash his hands. He saw himself in the mirror and stared, frozen, as water rushed over his hands. He looked at the glitter that had been thrown over his head, settling in his pale hair and catching on his skin. Coloured paint clung to his shirt that had once been blue but now mirrored the rainbow exploding in his heart.

 _Accepted_. This place made him feel accepted. Simultaneously nothing and everything. He was no one yet..

“Stalking’s weird, ya know.”

Draco heard Potter’s voice a second before he caught sight of him in the mirror. Potter wasn’t covered in as much glitter and paint as Draco, but he certainly hadn’t escaped it. Green flecks clung to the edges of his hair, and a matching green handprint was smudged across his chest as if someone had tried to reach for him and failed.

“I was here first,” Draco countered, turning off the tap and swinging around to face Potter. “And I believe stalking was always more your thing.”

Potter pursed his lips before shrugging. “Yeah, I’ll give you that. You were just generally more obsessed.”

“We literally just agreed that you stalked me?”

“Yeah,” Potter said, leaning back against the stalls and raising his hand, “but you were way more obsessed with me in general.”

“We were both idiots.”

Potter cocked his head and grinned, a smile so warm that Draco felt it radiate throughout his entire body. “Never thought I’d hear you admit to that.”

“Guess I just grew up,” Draco said, the words hanging between them, more loaded than Draco had intended.

Potter stared and nodded, the ghost of a smile still on his face. “Guess so,” he said slowly, rolling the words over in his mouth, heavy like syrup. They were unimaginably sweet to Draco’s ears. “You here alone?” Potter asked again.

“No, Theo’s here.”

“As in still here?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, rubbing his hands together, rings scraping.

“Oh.”

Draco wasn’t sure if he was supposed to apologise for Theo’s presence. “Are you here alone?”

“Yeah,” Potter said, “I was hoping you would be too.”

“Oh,” Draco said, “I’m not with Theo or anything.”

“I’d gathered,” Potter said, giving Draco a look that pinned him against the sinks. “I just…” Potter ran a hand through his hair, “I haven’t, you know, told people about… about all… all this,” he gestured and Draco understood. It was one thing to come out to yourself and another to come out to the world. Especially someone like Potter who was hounded by the media at every turn. Draco saw the papers. He would have presumed Potter was some kind of serial womaniser if he hadn’t seen his attempts to talk to girls at school.

Potter’s plea to keep their night together secret made a lot more sense in the light of these revelations.

“We can just go somewhere else then?” Draco said, not wanting this thing with Potter to be cut down so swiftly. There was much more to discover. “Not to necessarily…” he cringed.

Potter laughed, pushing off the stall door and striding over toward Draco. Draco was hypnotised by the movement of his hips. “I’m up for just going somewhere and figuring it out as we go.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak when Potter leaned in and kissed him, so shortly and sharply that Draco thought he would die if he didn’t have it again. He curled his hand in Potter’s shirt, chasing Potter’s mouth, smiling the whole time.

“Why are you so happy?” Potter asked, kissing the corner of Draco’s mouth and stepping away. Draco hated the loss.

“I always wanted my own Harry Potter adventure,” Draco confessed, the alcohol and heat of the bathroom making his tongue loose.

Potter laughed and reached out, fingers pressing gently against Draco’s hip. “Then let’s go have one.”

“Ad astra,” Draco replied.

Potter frowned. “What? Was that French?”

“Latin, but I also do know a bit of…” Draco trailed off, realising that standing against a sink in the bathroom of a men’s gay club wasn’t the time to get into a bragging session of his pre-Hogwarts education — especially when Harry Potter wanted to leave said club with him. “You know what, it doesn’t matter,” he concluded, laughing when Potter grinned and beckoned for him to follow. Draco followed, helpless to do anything else.

Outside in the street, Draco appreciated how Potter looked in his leather jacket, the way it stretched over his shoulders, clinging to them. Draco wanted to tear it off, he wanted to peel away all of Potter’s clothes one by one. He refrained because Potter was offering him the one thing Draco had always wanted — getting to know him.

“Where to then?” Draco asked. Potter stepped forward and brushed his thumb across Draco’s cheek, one after the other. Draco frowned, the sensation of a cleaning spell rippling over his skin. He watched as the paint Vanished from Potter. He was going to complain  when he realised Potter had done the spell wandlessly without saying a word. “Impressive.”

Potter shrugged, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Fancy a kebab?”

“You’re a hungry drunk, aren’t you?”

“Is that a yes?”

Draco paused, wrinkling his nose. “They always look vile.”

“But they taste so good!”

“It looks like shaved meat.”

“It is shaved meat!”

“Meat should not be shaved.”

“Don’t be a snob,” Potter said, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows at Draco.

Draco faltered, mouth open as he stared back at Potter helplessly. He didn’t want Potter to think he was a snob, but… “It looks like meat crusts?” he tried, desperate for Potter to change his mind.

“You’re the one who wanted to come on a Harry Potter adventure,” Potter said, and Draco’s lungs relaxed when he saw the smile playing on Potter’s lips.

“Yes,” he said, “but I was kind of imagining a lot more fighting bad guys and a lot less eating food that looks like it’s been stepped on.”

Potter stared at him for a moment longer before laughing and shaking his head. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit ridiculous?” he asked, starting to walk.

Draco fell into step beside him and sighed dramatically. “I prefer to consider myself misunderstood.”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Potter said, darting out of the way as Draco went to shove him, before moving back and letting his shoulder brush Draco’s as they walked along side by side. Draco decided food poisoning might be worth it for this.

Walking up toward Primrose Hill with their takeaway boxes after stopping off at Potter’s kebab Shop, Draco was willing to admit the food wasn’t dire. Draco had refused to follow Potter’s suit of choosing a meat shavings kebab (or whatever they were called), but he was enjoying his cheesy chips.

“See,” Potter said as Draco licked ketchup off his thumb, “I told you this was a good idea.”

“It wasn’t your worst idea,” Draco said, popping another chip in his mouth. “My pasta was definitely better.”

“Your pasta was undercooked.”

“You have sauce on your face,” Draco said though Potter didn’t.

Potter rubbed at his face and flipped Draco off. “Is it gone?”

“Nope,” Draco said.

Potter rubbed at his face again. “Where is it?”

“Nowhere,” Draco admitted, moving out of Potter’s way and groaning when a couple of his chips fell onto the ground. He paused and stared down at the tragic loss before gazing at Potter. “You made me drop my chips! This is officially the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Potter snorted. “I wish.”

At the words the world seemed to stop as if everything they’d ever done to each other was now staring them, unavoidably, in the face. Draco couldn’t breathe, the memory of blood tainting his tongue as he stared at the ketchup on his hands. How could they have believed that they could brush their entire history under the rug? Draco blamed the arrogance of alcohol.

“I never said I’m sorry,” Potter said, scuffing his shoe on the ground, “which is fucked up of me because I was sorry, really sorry.”

Draco held up his hand, taking a moment to separate himself from the phantom pain slicing across his body. “You don’t need to apologise,” he said.

“You wrote letters to us—” Potter started, looking painfully self-deprecating as he stopped walking.

“Our sins are not comparable.” Draco stopped and placed his free hand on Potter’s chest. He could feel Potter’s heart pounding, just off beat to Draco’s own. He wondered if their being slightly out of sync meant something. He decided he was overthinking.

“Ruprix Black was an old wizarding philosopher who spoke a lot about the past, and what I can really remember is that we shouldn’t dwell on it because things happened that way due to the natural magical order of the world, meaning we can only learn from it.”

Potter’s mouth curled into a small smile, and Draco caught sight of that wonderful dimple again. “That’s a lot of words just to say we’re good to leave the past in the past.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m being scholarly.”

“You’re being pretentious.”

“Big word,” Draco said, leaning in and kissing Potter when he laughed, swallowing the sweetness of the sound.

“Three whole syllables,” Potter said against his lips, pulling back and glancing around.

Draco followed Potter’s gaze before stealing another kiss after ensuring they were alone. He’d forgotten the caution that came with not being out. He imagined Potter had to watch his back enough in day-to-day life.

“It’s a Muggle area,” Draco said, “no one’s going to see us.”

“That’s not what I…” Potter started, before trailing off and chewing his lip. He sighed. “Sorry, I’m just new to all this.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said, “I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen.”

“How’d you know?” Potter asked, reaching over for Draco’s hand as they started walking again . Draco took it willingly, entwining their fingers and not minding it meant he couldn’t eat his chips.

“I’d never been particularly fussed by girls, and then Cedric Diggory and Krum happened.”

Potter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I didn’t know it at the time, but yeah, Cedric.” Loss flashed across Potter’s face, and Draco kept talking, wanting to chase the look away. He craved Potter’s smile.

“So yeah, I tried to pretend I liked girls, which led to a disastrous thing with Pansy, and then classic dorm room hookups with Blaise and Theo.”

“Classic dorm room hookups?” Potter frowned.

“Oh you know.” Draco gestured, a couple more of his chips falling from their container. “Horny teenage boys, none of them totally straight—”

“—I was not hooking up with my dorm.” Potter laughed.  “God, no thank you.”

“But Thomas and Finnegan?”

“Oh yeah, they had a thing but…” Potter said, “It’s a bit confusing really. I’d never known what my feelings for guys meant. I’d always presumed everyone noticed guys like I did.”

“It’s maddening to realise they don’t, isn’t it?”

Potter nodded. “I do like girls too though, I like both. I think I loved Ginny, and I like sleeping with girls.”

“You’re allowed to like both, you know?”

“Yeah, bisexual,” he said, testing the word out loud. “I’ve told Hermione and Ron  — Hermione gave me books of course. And speaking to Seamus and Dean helped a lot as well, but that’s it.” Draco squeezed his hand at the lost expression on his face. “I’m just tired of people talking about me. I don’t want them to ruin this.”

“Yeah, the wizarding world is weird about it all,” Draco said, “you can shag men in secret, but that’s all it’s supposed to be… a secret.” He smiled bitterly. “Especially for someone like me.”

“Whatcha mean?”

Draco let go of Potter’s hand and laughed, letting the sound drift up into the sky with the worries he’d once felt. He stepped forward and turned so he was walking backwards in front of Potter as he spoke. “I was supposed to settle down with a nice pure-blood wife and have an heir, a son of course, but here I am shagging Harry Potter.”

“You haven’t shagged me yet,” Potter countered, grin growing as he upped his pace to match Draco’s. Draco only had an inch on him height-wise probably, but Draco had abnormally long legs on his side.

 _Yet_.

“Race you to the hill?”

Draco glanced at the welcoming grass ahead of them and back at Potter. “On the count of three?”

“One, two— oi!” Potter yelled as Draco took off, chucking his leftover chips to the side. “Fucking Slytherin!” He heard Potter yelling after him, and the pounding of Potter’s feet, and they were both laughing and so marvelously alive under the London lights that Draco thought he might burst with the sensation of it all. Alive, after everything, they were alive.

They were exhausted by the time they reached the hill, and collapsed onto the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

Lying on Primrose Hill while kissing Harry Potter was something Draco never thought he’d do in his life. Yet here he was.

Potter’s mouth was warm and eager. Potter kissed like a man drowning, his hands knotted in Draco’s hair and his breath hitching.

“Have you done this before?” Draco asked, pressing his lips to the skin behind Potter’s ear, the curls of Potter’s hair tickling his nose.

“Done what?” Potter gasped, burying his face in Draco’s neck. Potter ground his hips down on Draco’s, and Draco forgot what he was saying for a moment, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming pleasure. Potter was ablaze and Draco wanted to burn.

“Any of this,” Draco managed to get out, moving one of his hands to Potter’s arse. Potter had a fantastic arse. It was amazing to look at but even better to touch. He squeezed it, letting out a noise as Potter pushed down against him again, the thick denim of their jeans creating a friction that might make Draco explode.

“Not a virgin at all,” Potter said, “with guys or girls.”

A small part of Draco’s mind decided it was time to remember that rant Pansy had gone on in fifth year, invoking some scholar who argued virginity was a made-up concept. He quickly shut that down when Potter kissed him again.

“Brilliant,” Draco murmured into the kiss, rolling them onto their sides.

The grass was soft beneath them and tickled Draco’s bare arms as he propped himself up, gazing at Potter who stared back at him, his glasses reflecting the dim lights and his lips slick.

“What?” Potter asked.

Draco placed his hand on Potter’s chest, watching as Potter’s breath caught as he slowly moved it down to rest on Potter’s belt. Potter leaned in to kiss him and Draco took that as the yes he needed, making quick work of Potter’s belt before sliding his hand into Potter’s jeans and under his boxers.

“Fuck,” Potter whimpered, and Draco could only nod in agreement, utterly lost for words at the heavy feel of Potter’s cock in his hand.

“Is this—” Draco started, and Potter kissed him harder, mumbling _yes, yes, please_ over and over into the kiss as Draco began to move his hand up and down, pulling on Potter’s foreskin and drinking in the praise.

Potter whispered something, and then Draco’s hand was slick with lube and Potter was bucking into the movement. They rolled over, Potter on his back staring up at Draco, an arm flung across his forehead as Draco wanked him off. Slowly, drawing it out and committing it to memory as he moved Potter’s boxers down to make it easier.

He ran his thumb across a vein, torn between wanting to watch Potter’s cock and wanting to watch Potter’s face.

“Jesus fucking Merlin,” Potter hissed, his face scrunching up and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Like that?” Draco murmured, speeding his hand up watching as Potter nodded, his mouth falling open. “What about this?” Draco said, pulling his hand off and shuffling down Potter’s body.

Potter’s head lifted and his eyes opened as he started to protest the loss until he caught onto what Draco was doing. “Yeah,” he said, voice catching. “I think I’ll like that too.”

Draco smirked, running his tongue around the head of Potter’s cock, not minding the salty taste in his intoxicated state.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Potter groaned, as Draco worked Potter’s cock into his mouth, flicking his tongue against that vein he’d felt earlier. Potter’s hands twisted in the grass beside him and it wasn’t long until he was coming. Draco pulled up gasping for air. He’d tried to swallow as much as he could, but the sensation had become overwhelming.

“How was—” he didn’t get to finish his sentence beforePotter pushed him to the ground and snogged him, working his tongue into Draco’s mouth. Draco kissed back desperately, moaning into Potter’s mouth as Potter shoved a hand into Draco’s trousers. He panted and writhed under Potter’s touch and came embarrassingly quickly, biting down on Potter’s shoulder as Potter worked him through his orgasm.

They lay back on the dewy grass staring up at the sky, panting.

“I wanted to suck you,” Potter said, rolling over and draping a leg across Draco.

Draco groaned, pressing his face into Potter’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t say no if you want to next time.” He swallowed, waiting for Potter to confirm this was going to happen again. Needing Potter to confirm it would happen again.

“I like the sound of that,” Potter said. They lay there for a bit longer, marvelling in each other’s presence as the sun started to rise above London, and eventually they stood up and made their way back to Draco’s apartment.

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco fidgets, glancing between Harry and Slughorn and all areas of the ballroom that are Harry-and-Slughorn-free. Slughorn has been speaking pompously to Harry for five minutes, and Draco has been doing his best not to listen. He doesn’t want to hear Harry’s voice. He hates Harry’s voice and the slow way he talks, the husky tone.

Draco takes a deep breath, focusing on where he can see his friends in the corner. They’re looking over in amusement, probably laughing at the idea of Slughorn pushing Harry and Draco together. They had no reason to suspect anything, Harry and Draco had hardly presented themselves as friends let alone lovers. An entire year — over a year — Draco had wrapped himself up in Harry and forgotten about the rest of the world. He’d hardly seen his friends, too utterly enamoured with the man in front of him.

“Excuse me—” Draco starts, seeing  his opportunity to escape while Slughorn talks at Harry.

“Oh, I’m sorry I was getting caught up in my own tales,” Slughorn says, patting Draco on the back with far too much vigour. “That’s the thing about living a life like mine, there’s always another story to tell.”

Draco can see Harry trying not to smile at Slughorn’s ridiculousness. Harry catches Draco’s eyes and looks away, shuffling his feet — discomfort radiating off him.

 _Good_ , he thinks. Let Harry be uncomfortable in his presence.

“Of course, but—”

“Speaking of always having a story to tell,” Slughorn continues as if Draco hadn’t tried to speak. “I owe you a congratulations on that book of yours, I could always tell you were the creative sort at school.”

“Thank you,” Draco says, trying to resist the urge to run away. He’s not going to let Harry ruin his night. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him.

 _Have you read it?_ Draco wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare.

“Have you read it, Harry?”

Draco nearly laughs because what else is he supposed to do. Slughorn is ruining his life, one word at a time. He’s tearing down the walls Draco has spent the last couple of years building up, and he’s not even aware he’s doing it. Perhaps Slughorn is more brutal than they’d ever given him credit for.

“No,” Harry says, but his voice catches, “I haven’t got around to it yet.”

Draco’s head swings around at the sound of Harry’s lie.

“Oh, it’s a beautiful story. I shed a tear or two, I must confess.” Slughorn chuckles, “I’m an old softy at heart after all.”

Slughorn pauses, and Draco realises too late that he’s supposed to say something, but he can’t do anything but stare at Harry. It’s been so long since they were this close.

His eyes flick from Harry’s own, to the mole above his lip, to the freckles over his nose, and to the scar. His hair is as wild as ever, and Draco imagines if he runs his hands through it that it will be just as soft as it used to be.

Slughorn clears his throat, and Draco’s brain kicks into gear. “Yes, I shed a tear or two writing it,” he confesses. The words are vulnerable yet barbed, designed to make Harry hurt. Draco watches him flinch.

“I know you told the papers that you weren’t going to share the details of what inspired the story,” Slughorn says, “but between old friends, can you share just one secret?”

Draco would love to share one of his secrets about Harry; he’d love to proclaim to the world that he had loved Harry and Harry had loved him back, but he can’t. It’s because a part of him still loves Harry that he can’t. He wishes he could go back to hating Harry, it had been as easy as breathing to hate Harry when he was young.

Loving Harry had fucked everything up.

Draco’s heart is a patchwork quilt of secrets and lies, and he’s tired of threads snapping.

“Sorry,” he says, still facing Harry, the words chalky in his mouth, “the secrets and the story are too entwined at this point.”

* * *

**Past**

 

Draco jumped at the sound of his floo flaring, papers spilling off his dining room table. He paused at the door and flicked his wand at them. The papers floated up into the air and settled themselves on the table. They were all out of order now, but Draco didn’t mind. They were of nothing important, just glimpses into the time he’d spent with Potter since they had first met. Draco couldn’t stop writing about him, captivated by Potter’s presence.

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice rang through the house.

“Coming!” Draco called back, slipping out the dining room and closing the door behind him. He wandered into the living room to find Potter inspecting the floo, shopping bags discarded at his feet.

“You’re a bit early if you’re looking for Father Christmas,” Draco said, crossing his arms and watching as Potter turned slowly, his face lighting up as he caught sight of Draco. Draco’s heart tripped over itself.

“Muggle joke, I like it.”

“I like to consider myself ‘down with the Muggles’,” Draco said, “is that what the youth nowadays are saying?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a prat.”

“I’m being hilarious.”

“One and the same,” Potter said, wincing as his knees cracked as he stood up.

“Getting old?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Potter laughed, striding towards Draco and slipping his arms around him.

Draco pursed his lips, pretending to think. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Idiot,” Potter said, leaning in and kissing him.

“Charming,” Draco corrected, kissing Potter again before he could say anything else. It didn't really make much sense why everything was so easy between them. Draco was still waiting for reality to set in, but so far it hadn’t.

It was one of the perks of Potter’s insistence on staying secret. They could live in their own little world and figure each other out at their own pace.

They’d always been explosive in their feelings towards each other, so Draco supposed it made sense they’d move quickly in this sense as well.

It turned out when they weren’t fighting, they actually had a lot in common.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t fight, as even in the last few weeks they’d managed to find things to fight about. Now it wasn’t so much fighting as squabbling, and it was fun. They were always going to be stubborn, and Draco was never going to want Potter to stop challenging him.

Draco pulled back and peered at the bags.  “What are we having tonight?”

“I was thinking spag bol.”

“We’ve had that,” Draco said. “Can’t you cook something else?”

“You cook and we’ll have something else.”

Draco scowled. “My cooking is perfectly edible, you know.”

None of Draco’s Potions talent had transferred into the kitchen.

“Yeah, if you don’t have taste buds.” Potter laughed, waving his wand to Levitate the bags into the kitchen. Draco suspected Potter could have done it wandlessly — he’s in awe of the power that radiates from Potter at times. He’s also caught on that Potter tries to downplay the magic flowing through him; he’s famous enough as it is.

Draco could laugh at the fact he once thought Potter loved the limelight. The list of things he was wrong about as a youth was tragically long.

“Why didn’t you become an Auror?” He asked, the question slipping off his tongue as soon as it entered his head.

Potter paused by the kitchen door and let out a low laugh. “If I had a Sickle for every time I’d been asked that…”

The question felt more loaded than Draco had intended.

“I just presumed you would,” Draco said.

“So did everyone,” Potter sighed, looking exhausted, like the war had ended only yesterday instead of three years ago.

Draco could sympathise. Sometimes he still felt like the war hadn’t ended. They both had nightmares, although they hadn’t spoken about them yet — he wasn’t sure if they ever would speak about them. There was a difference between pulling each other back from the edge after a nightmare and actually addressing what that edge was.

 _Dulce bellum inexpertis_ , his mother had whispered to him, stroking his hair as he’d sobbed into her robes when the Dark Lord had made him torture a Muggle into near insanity.

She had been right (as usual). When Draco’s father had first told him war was brewing Draco had been ecstatic, he’d wanted to do everything he could for _their_ cause. He’d been honoured when the Dark Lord had first told him he had a special task for him. A task only Draco could achieve.

His fingers drifted to his sleeve, fingers resting where the scar of his Dark mark remained. It wasn’t that noticeable, pale pink and slightly raised, but it would be there for the rest of his life. A testament to the boy he had been and a reminder of the mistakes he had made.

Draco didn’t want to dwell on the war any longer.

Potter ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I was tired is all.”

“Of what?” Draco realised he’d become distracted by his own thoughts,

Potter’s mouthed flickered into a smile and he moved into the kitchen, Draco following him. “Tired of it all,” Potter said, waving his wand at the bags and letting them settle on the counters. Potter always insisted on cooking by hand, which Draco found rather charming  — when he wasn’t hungry and in need of a quick meal.

“I didn’t want to keep fighting, and who knows, maybe I’ll join the Aurors when I’m older, but for now I’m just figuring it out.”

“Well, we’ve got enough time to do so,” Draco said, getting a couple of ciders out of the fridge — he’d bought them for Potter. “I don’t plan on figuring out what to do with my life till I’m at least fifty.”

“Fifty?”

“The average wizard lives till they’re like 130. I don’t understand why all our parents rushed everything so much.”

“I think it’s a war thing. I remember learning that Muggles did it too with World War I.”

Draco shrugged, spelling the bottles open and passing one over to Potter. “Whatever, I just want to have a bit of fun. I think we deserve it.”

Potter grinned, revealing his dimple. Draco couldn’t believe he’d gone twenty-one years without ever seeing Potter’s dimple before. It was a spectacular sight.

“To having fun,” Potter said, raising his bottle to Draco in cheers.

“To having fun,” Draco echoed.

Despite Draco’s earlier protests, Potter’s spaghetti bolognese was good — not that Draco was willing to tell Potter that.

Draco stretched out on the sofa, his head in Potter’s lap, his eyes flickering between the TV and Potter’s face.

Potter laughed at the show he’d put on, and although the show wasn’t funny, Draco was content to lie there and stare at Potter, memorising the way he looked when he smiled.

Potter’s smile could stop wars, or maybe start them.

The Greeks had sung of Helen of Troy and her face that sailed a thousand ships, but for Draco that was Potter’s smile. He couldn’t believe how many years he’d wasted making Potter scowl and shout, when he should have been making him smile and laugh. It was maddening.

Draco watched the lazy curve of Potter’s full lips and the flash of his off-centre teeth. He wanted to trace the smile with his fingers, press his lips to Potter’s and feel the smile against him. He felt drunk on it.

“You’re staring at me.”

“No, I’m not,” Draco said, not looking away.

“Creep.”

“How very vain of you to assume I was staring.”

“I can see you staring?”

“I’m not staring,” Draco said, grinning as Potter gazed down at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m observing.”

“Observing what?”

“The world around me.”

“Alright David Attenborough.”

Draco frowned as he tried to think up a response to Potter’s comment; it was hard when he didn’t know the name.

“Muggle presenter,” Potter said. “He’s doing a show about the oceans and stuff right now. I’ve been watching it with Luna and Neville.”

“Why?” Draco said before he could stop himself. Potter’s eyes narrowed, and Draco waved him off. “I’m clearly not judging Muggle TV, I’ve got a TV of my own as you can quite clearly see. I meant why are you watching a show about the ocean?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I’m presuming it doesn’t have anything _that_ interesting in it, as Muggles don’t know about magical aquatic-creatures.”

Potter shrugged. “Sharks are just as cool as mermaids and probably less vicious.”

“They are not as cool as mermaids,” Draco said, pinching Potter’s thigh. “That’s like saying horses are as good as unicorns.”

“Just ‘cause they’re magical doesn’t make them better.”

Draco scowled at Potter’s presumption and the loss of his smile. He pursed his lips and sighed, taking a moment to think about what he wanted to say. He had to do that a lot nowadays, frame the words he was trying to say in his mind before he said them out loud, think about if they were offensive.

“I know that,” he said, “I just meant that a shark isn’t as clever as a mermaid, it’s not as human.”

“So now magical creatures are smarter as well?”

“Why are you twisting my words?” Draco demanded, sitting up and glaring at Potter. He could feel his pulse pounding. “I was obviously not trying to say that!”

“Well, what were you trying to say then?”

“Nothing!” Draco said, standing up and walking away from Potter, scowling when Potter echoed his movements. “I certainly wasn’t trying to be prejudiced!”

Potter ground his teeth. “Well, what were you trying to say then?” he repeated.

“I was just trying to say I found magical creatures more interesting! How is that prejudice?” Draco faltered, rolling the words over in his head and interrupting Potter’s response to ask: “Was I prejudiced?”

Potter dragged a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t mean it to be, I’m not like that anymore.”

“I know, otherwise this wouldn’t be a thing,” Potter said, gesturing between them.

“Exactly,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “I do try.” Potter didn’t say anything, but there was a crease between his eyebrows, so Draco continued, “I work actively in the charity community for Muggleborns, Squibs, and a range of other Magical Creatures.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be the person I was,” Draco confessed, “I try so hard not to be that person anymore.”

“I know.”

Draco wrinkled his nose, and Potter stepped forward, his arms sliding up Draco’s arms. Draco didn’t let himself lean into the touch, at least not completely.

“Is that why you don’t tell anyone about us?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral as if it didn’t bother him they’d done nothing but mooch about each other’s places for the last few weeks. He did love it, but he didn’t like the feeling he was something Potter was ashamed of.

“Of course not,” Potter said quickly, “you know it’s that I don’t feel comfortable telling everyone about my sexuality yet.”

“And Granger and Weasley?”

Potter faltered. “They don’t know you. I need them to know that you’ve changed before I introduce you to them, especially before I tell them about whatever this is.”

“And what is this exactly?”

That boyish grin flickered at Potter’s lips as he leaned in and kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth. “This is us having fun.”

“To having fun,” Draco said, letting his hands knot in Potter’s shirt as Potter kissed him. He wasn’t going to be the first to admit this had bypassed _just_ having fun to him.

“To having fun,” Potter echoed. Draco let himself get lost in the burn of Potter’s mouth, and the press of his hands.

Draco had always considered himself a storyteller, a connoisseur of words, but he was lost for them now, and so all he could do was kiss Potter desperately. Hoping the kiss said what words couldn’t.

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco nearly dies of relief when Emily Fillis breaks up his conversation with Slughorn and Harry and shuffles him away to prepare for his speech.

He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to take another minute of the heaviness of Harry’s gaze as Slughorn had quizzed him about the book, about the writing process and the inspiration, and the applause that had come with it.

Draco had answered all of his questions neatly, Harry’s gaze a spotlight on him, waiting for him to slip up.

Draco wishes they would all see Harry as he did, as the coward he is. Afraid of his own shadow, afraid of his own truth.

 _Amor omnia vincit_ was the motto of those who had won the war, and Draco can’t stand the hypocrisy dripping from the words.

Draco feels a stab of guilt even now at thinking of Harry that way, because he knows it’s not fair. Sexuality isn’t fair most of the time, and the world certainly isn’t.

In the last couple of years the wizarding world had made progress with their views on sexuality, Harry spearheading some of the campaigns. Harry had come out at the beginning of last year. He’d done an article with the _Quibbler_ about being bisexual. Draco had been thrilled for him despite everything, glad Harry was learning to be happy with whom he was.

The papers hadn’t even cared much, since bisexual meant Harry still liked girls enough for them to pretend he was straight.

A naive part of Draco had hoped once he was out Harry would come back to him. He hadn’t. Draco tries to pretend it didn’t hurt, tries to focus on the satisfaction that he was right and Harry’s issue with their relationship wasn’t that they were two men — it was the fact one of those men was Draco. The victory isn’t satisfying.

Draco couldn’t help but follow the gossip rags about whom Harry was dating, waiting for the day the papers announced Harry’s new boyfriend. however, that day still hadn't come. Aside from the usual fake news, Harry had not seemed to have settled with anyone since Draco. It doesn’t bring much comfort to Draco, who knows better than anyone how good Harry is at hiding things.

He doesn’t look back over his shoulder to see if Harry watches him walk away. It’s not like Harry had looked back over his when he’d walked away from Draco for the final time.

Draco had given him the ultimatum, and Harry had made the choice to walk away from them.

Draco steels himself. He’s not willing to take Harry Potter’s scraps any longer. He knows his worth.

He wants to stand on the stage and tell the world that Harry Potter loves in an all-consuming manner. He knows they already know this, the only reason any of them live the lives they have today is because Harry loves with his entire being. However, they don’t _know_ like Draco does.

They haven’t kissed him, haven’t held him after a nightmare. They haven’t fucked him and/or been fucked by him; they haven’t seen the blaze in Harry’s eyes, and they haven’t seen the way he looks when he comes. Harry had loved him, Draco knew.

That made the loss hurt more.

“So,” Emily began, turning to face Draco, her robes a vibrant shade of purple, streaked with blue and pink. “Prue is going to go out and speak a bit about the award and what she won it for last year — after all it’s only our second year being able to host this Queer Gala,” Draco matched Emily’s smile, “then she’ll call out your name, and you go out speak a bit about your book, what influenced it and the reaction it’s received. All good?”

“Great,” Draco says, though his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

“You’re going to smash it,” Emily promises. Draco supposes his neutral face has never been as good as he’s wanted it to be. “I’ll be cheering you on from here, and everyone else will be cheering you on from out there.”

Her words ground Draco. The book is bigger than him, bigger than Harry, the novel was a celebration of gay love. It meant something to the queer community, and Draco’s proud to be a part of that.

He’d written the book intending to lock Harry away in a box once it was finished, to accept it was another part of his life he had to leave behind.

He’s learning he’ll never be able to leave Harry in the past. Draco and Harry have revolved around each other from the moment they met, spinning helplessly in orbit, unable to stop their inevitable collisions.

“And so it is with my great pleasure that I welcome out onto the stage, the fantastically talented Draco Malfoy.”

* * *

**Past**

 

“Now what?” Draco asked, bumping Potter’s shoulder as they left the cafe.

Potter waved at the waitress over his shoulder before turning to Draco, still smiling. Draco, despite his best efforts, couldn’t stop smiling either, because even though it was only Muggle London and Potter seemed no closer to being ready to announce their relationship to the wizarding world — or any of his friends — after four months they were making progress, despite how long it was taking.

“So,” Draco repeated, “now what?”

“Whatever you fancy.”

“Thank you for being quite so useful.”

“I pride myself on it,” Potter said. Draco rolled his eyes to hide his smile at the way Potter’s fingers brushed his hand.

Muggles were probably worse than wizards with their outward lack of tolerance for queer people, but they did have actual dedicated gay spaces. Draco wished for all the world Potter would reach out and take his hand or that he could do the same to Potter, but he didn’t want to scare him away.

Draco wanted to burn the world down, destroy it all for how it made people who weren’t straight hate themselves. How it made people like Harry feel ashamed about who they loved. That niggling fear of judgement that didn’t go away in public even with someone like Draco who was proud to be something _‘other’_.

“I know a place,” Draco said.

“Where?”

“Surprise.”

Potter groaned as they walked along, beanie pulled over his head despite the heat of London in June. Draco knew it was a precaution; Potter always took precautions whenever he was out in public.

“I hate surprises.”

“How unGryffindor of you.”

“How?”

Draco waved his hand dismissively. “I thought you were all about spontaneity.”

Potter shrugged. “I suppose spending half my childhood knowing that when something _surprising_ was about to happen, it probably meant I was about to die put a damper on the whole thing.”

“I suppose that does suck the fun out of the whole thing.”

Potter grinned. “Indeed, our surprises were three-headed dogs and multiple people trying to kill me.”

“And dragons.”

“Oh the dragons were a great one because it wasn’t clear _how_ exactly I was going to die.”

“What were you hoping for?”

“I was hoping for burning to death, I think, because I’d experienced nearly being eaten a couple of years before.”

Draco swallowed, squeezing his nails into his palm as the memory of flames licking across his body and the sound of Vince’s screams washed over him. London’s heat smelt like burning flesh.

“It’s just a memory.” Potter’s voice was like balm to his thoughts. Draco turned to Potter, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and Potter reached out and gripped Draco’s shoulders. “Just a memory,” he promised. Potter’s fingers dug into his skin, but his  thumbs traced gentle circles against Draco’s arms.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Potter said, squeezing Draco one more time. Potter’s gaze darted about, and Draco knew Potter wanted to comfort him more but was afraid of anyone seeing him.

“Come on,” Draco said, stepping back so Potter didn’t have to.

“What? Are you—”

“I’ll be okay when I get to where I want to go,” Draco said, marching off so Potter had to jog to catch up with him.

“And where is that exactly.”

“Bookshop,” Draco said since  Potter didn’t like surprises.

“A bookshop?”

“Yes.”

“I know you like reading, but how is this going to make you feel better?”

Draco turned down the next road, catching the end of Potter swearing under his breath. “Trust me, it will make us both feel better.”

“You know you’re seeing me right, not Hermione?”

Draco slowed, glancing over his shoulder and letting his gaze travel up Potter’s body slowly, smirking as Potter pulled a face at him. “Trust me, I know exactly who I’m seeing.”

“Prat.” Potter flushed.

Draco winked, laughing as the tension evaporated off both their shoulders.

They walked along in silence until they reached a small shop with a blue exterior and a window full of towering books.

“Oh,” Potter said softly.

“I know, it’s one of my favourite places.” Draco tilted his head back, and smiled at the store name _Gay’s The Word_ , bold and unmissable. “It’s just nice coming to a place for our own, sometimes.”

Potter turned to Draco, his face alight. “I didn’t know places outside of clubs existed.”

“Stick with me and we’ll discover it all.” Draco laughed, nudging Potter forward and through the door, entwining their fingers as they stepped through the threshold. The store wasn’t particularly busy as it was a Tuesday afternoon, but there was a cheery buzz from the cafe in the back as Draco and Potter picked their way through the shop.

“Wow,” Potter said, turning around, his eyes wide.

Draco didn’t say anything. He stepped back and let Potter marvel at the sight. Draco drifted to the shelves to give Potter a moment to take it all in; he knew the fluttering freedom that came with finding a place like this. A place where the barriers could be down.

Draco smiled at Freddie behind the till and turned back to browsing the books, fingers brushing across the spines of the novels.

“This place is incredible.”

“It’s a favourite place of mine to think,” Draco said. He could feel Potter’s presence, closer than he’d dared to be all day. “I want to have a book of my own on these shelves one day, or see a bookshop like it in… in our world.”

“You write?” Potter asked. Draco smiled at the sound of a frown in Potter’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s always been a hobby of mine, and for a long time it was the only thing that brought me joy. It helped me escape… and now…”

“And now?”

“I’d like to do it professionally.”

“I think you’d be pretty amazing at that,” Potter said, wrapping his arms around Draco and resting his head on his shoulder. Draco kept his gaze on the books so Potter couldn’t see his grin.

He could feel it too, the atmosphere of the shop seeping into his body and soul. Self-acceptance came with knowing that here you wouldn’t be judged.

“Do I ever get to read it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Potter asked, poking Draco’s ribs. Draco elbowed him back, laughing at the warm huff of Potter’s breath on his ear. “Do you write about me?”

“How egotistical of you.”

“You’re not denying it.”

Draco elbowed Potter again, and stepped away from him. “I thought you hated people writing about you.”

Potter seemed to consider this, rubbing his hands together before shrugging, a dumb smile on his face. “You’re not just anyone.”

“You’re a sap,” Draco groaned, taking Potter’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Those knuckles that had once swung at Draco and now ghosted down his sides during sex.

“You’re the one who writes about me,” Potter said. “Do you write about us?”

“Fancy some cake? The chocolate cake from here is just—”

“—You write about us!”

“I change our names and situations!”

“But you write about our relationship, you great fucking sap.” Potter laughed as Draco dragged him to the cafe section of the bookshop. “If you ever mock me for wanting to watch Disney again I’m reminding you of this.”

“I hate you,” Draco sighed.

“Nah, you don’t.” Potter grinned, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist. Draco was thrilled with how easily Potter took to being public with their relationship when he felt comfortable.

It was the couples sitting around them —  a pair of old men bickering over books, two girls sharing cake, a man and woman playing with the piano. Every person in here saw it as a home.

Draco stepped up to the counter, gesturing for Potter to follow.

“And who is this delightful specimen, Draco?” Jane asked, their rainbow braces flashing as they smiled.

“No one.”

“I’m Harry,” Harry said, giving Jane a small wave.

“And I haven’t seen you before.”

“He’s too ugly to bring anywhere normally,” Draco said, laughing as Potter shoved him.

“Ignore him,” Jane said, moving to cut a piece of cake.

“Oh, I always do,” Potter said.

Jane met Draco’s eye and winked. “I like him.”

“I don’t,” Draco deadpanned. “It’s Po—Harry’s first time here.”

“Well it’s lovely to meet you, Harry,” Jane said. “Found any books you like?”

Harry rubbed the back of his hair, his gaze flickering between Jane and Draco. “Not really a reader.”

“He doesn’t read anything that hasn’t got something sports-related on the front,” Draco said. “I’m trying to educate him.”

“He’s cute enough to pull off the sporty persona,” Jane said, gazing appreciatively at Potter. Draco flipped them off before handing over the money and leading Potter over to a small table in the corner.

Draco sipped at his coffee, gazing around the cafe with its white wooden furniture and rainbow bunting. Lanterns hung above them and fairy lights were knotted across the walls.

“You called me Harry.”

“It’s your name?”

“Really, I wasn’t aware?”

Draco rolled his eyes and popped a bite of cake into his mouth. “Okay, haha, point?”

“You never call me Harry.” Potter shrugged, smiling as he ran his finger through the foam of his coffee. “I like it.”

“Oh,” Draco said, “would you like me to try calling you Harry?” _Harry_ rolled over his tongue, tasting intimate and like something Draco wanted to treasure for years to come. Potter shrugged again. “Harry,” Draco repeated, to watch Potter smile.

“Draco,” Potter countered, and Draco cursed Potter’s infectious smile as he beamed back at him. “Just seems a bit ridiculous to call each other by our surnames. We’ve been fucking for four months.”

“Fucking?” Draco said, staring at the cake so Potter couldn’t see his shoulders cave.

“Fucking, seeing each other,” Potter said, reaching over and brushing his calloused thumb across Draco’s wrists. “I like you a lot.”

“You’re awfully brave all of a sudden.”

“This place feels true,” Potter said.

“Veritas vos liberabit,” Draco said, before adding the translation for Potter, “the truth will set you free.”

“What would set me free would be you no longer using Latin in everyday conversation.”

“It’s cultured.”

“It’s prattish. I can’t believe I’m with someone who quotes Latin at every other opportunity.”

Draco rolled his eyes. They’d had this conversation so many times, Harry refusing to understand that showing off your tutorage was a principal part of the pure-blood society Draco had grown up in: philosophical debates over the dinner table, musical recitals, and Latin slipped into everyday conversation. He glanced over at the piano before giving Potter a challenging look. “I can play the piano as well.”

“How well?”

Draco stood up, relishing in Potter’s gleeful laugh. He wondered if he should be worried because he’d do anything to keep Potter sounding that happy. He wondered if it was worrying how hard and fast he was falling for a man who wouldn’t let him breathe a word about their relationship.

Draco sat down at the piano and pressed a couple of the keys before beginning to play cheerily.

He smirked as Potter groaned. “Don’t play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

“Fuck me you’re demanding,” Draco huffed, tapping his fingers against the keys before deciding on an old pure-blood lovesong. Potter wouldn’t know the meaning of the song Draco had chosen, but Draco played for him anyway. He played for him again and again until Potter appeared behind him, breath hot and wet against his ear and whispered:

“I want you to remind me what else you can do with those fingers.”

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco feels the lights blinding him as he walks out onto the stage to accept his award from Prue Bagman — the charming, if not rather disarming sister of Ludo Bagman.

He can feel everyone’s eyes clinging to him, and he doesn’t let himself look away from Prue’s outstretched hand.

Prue lists his achievements and what the book would have meant to her as a lesbian when she was a teenager, to know she wasn’t alone in her feelings. Draco nods and agrees because it’s what he wants to say, but the words he’d prepared have dried up in his throat. He stares at where his friends are gathered to keep himself from searching out Harry.

“There are not enough letters in the alphabet or words in the dictionary for me to even begin to say how much this award means to me.” Draco stares at Pansy’s smiling face and catches Theo’s encouraging thumbs up. He doesn’t look for Harry. “I grew up in a wizarding world where the person I was inside was never going to be accepted, so I locked him away and tried to throw away the key. It was easier that way. It was easy to continue buying into the ideals I had been taught my entire life, because if I looked at myself closely, if I started to tug at the threads on what I believed, then everything unravelled.”

Draco’s hands sweat and he clutches the award in his hand, letting the jagged edge press into his skin and ground him.

“I have since learnt that unravelling beliefs that are founded in nothing but years of prejudice and a lack of understanding is exactly what we all need to do.” He glances down at the shining award in his hands. “What they don’t tell you is that admitting you were wrong is the easy part. It’s coming back from the mistakes that is the hard part.”

Draco takes a deep breath and lets his eyes sweep the crowd, glancing away the second he catches sight of Weasley’s tell-tale red hair. He’s sure Harry will be nearby. “Writing this book was the easy part, and it was deciding to share my story with the world that was hard. I began writing this story a couple of years back during my first real relationship. It was a relationship founded upon secrets, and I know everyone wants to know who my mysterious _you_ is, but I promised I’d never tell and I plan to keep that promise.”

There’s a soft chorus of _awww_ from the audience. All Draco wants to do is look at Harry.

“When I started writing it was as a celebration of my love for this man, and by the time I’d finished the novel we were over, and there was only history left between us. I wanted to put the story aside and never touch it again. I’d dealt with my lingering feelings and I could turn my back on it. However, a good friend of mine,” Draco smiled at Theo who raised his glass, “read it — behind my back — and while I was fuming, he pointed out that he would have loved a story like that when he was growing up. I was involved with the Queer Magic Folk foundation at this point and began thinking about what it would have meant for me to have read a story like this when I was growing up, and it was that decision that influenced my ending.”

Draco meets Harry’s eyes and feels his lungs collapse. Harry is staring at him, his mouth open as if he’s lost the power of speech. Draco can’t look away as he keeps speaking.

“Clearly my relationship ended, and it ended pretty fucking badly.” He lets out a weak laugh and the audience echos him. “And as you all know, Victor and Alfie did manage to work things out. They got their happy ending. I really struggled with the decision of how to end the novel, and I wrote it surrounded by wine and food and trashy films, mulling over whether I wanted the ending to be happy or real.”

Harry’s still staring and Draco keeps speaking directly to him.

“And in the end I decided it could be both, deciding that just because the original relationship I based it on didn’t end well, didn’t mean none of my relationships will do.”

Harry shakes his head and turns to leave. Draco stares at the back of his head, a lump forming in his throat as he concludes his speech.

“I guess my reasoning for this was that I wanted to give us… me… anyone who has ever struggled with their sexuality, a win. I just really wanted to give us all a win, and so this award isn’t just for me, it’s for anyone out there who is waiting for their win.”

Draco hears Theo whistle and Pansy cheer as the audience begins to applaud. Prue shakes his hand, and Draco thinks he’s smiling but he’s not completely sure because none of it matters as he watches Harry walk away again.

* * *

**Past**

 

“Oh my Merlin, he’s alive,” Pansy drawled as Draco walked through the door of Millicent’s house and out onto the front porch.

“I was presuming you’d finally caved and become a hermit,” Blaise said.

“The clubs are ready to send out search parties,” Theo sighed, “I’ve lost my partner in crime.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Sucking cock?” Greg asked.

“I hate you all,” Draco said, “now where’s Mills? I’ve brought her Champagne.”

“I think you ought to have bought us all an ‘ _I’m so sorry that I forgot that the letter_ f _meant friends as well as fuck’_ presents,” Pansy said.

Theo nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to my own bottle of Champers.”

“You wouldn’t say no to much,” Blaise said.

“Just because no one is good enough for your arse,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Frigid twat.”

“Now, now children,” Greg said, scolding them both before Blaise could reply.

Draco grinned. He hadn’t realised how utterly caught up he’d been with Harry until he’d got Millie’s invitation for an end-of-August BBQ to celebrate her moving house. He’d never been _that_ close to Millie, but he felt he should have known she was moving house.

“Neville has fantastic taste in flora, I’ll give him that,” Blaise said.

“Wait, as in?”

Pansy sighed as if Draco were the cause of her eternal suffering. “This BBQ is to celebrate Mil and Neville moving in together, which you knew, right?”

“Right, of course.”

“Is the dick you’re getting good enough that you’ve lost all your brain cells?” Theo scoffed.

Blaise clutched his hands to his chest and recited, “Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur.”

“I’m not in love,” Draco said, though he might be.

“You’re not wise either,” Greg said.

“He’s certainly not a god,” Theo said. “Now I’ve spotted Fitch-Fletchy and I’ve an affinity for blonds.” He winked at Draco before laughing and wandering off.

Draco watched him go, a thought dawning on him as he turned back to his friends. “That means Potter’s lot will be here, right?”

Blaise groaned and slipped a Galleon over to Greg, who gestured for Pansy to do the same. “No being weird with Potter. We left that obsession in the ruins of Hogwarts, right?”

Draco laughed, the sound slipping from his lips before he could stop it. He wasn’t sure whether he was laughing at Blaise telling him to leave the Potter obsession in the past when Harry was the reason Draco had been AWOL for the last six months, or if he was laughing because he and Harry were going to be at the same party and and have to act like they weren’t friends, let alone lovers.

“Please don’t be weird with Potter,” Greg begged. “I don’t think my fragile mental stability could take it.”

“Define weird?”

“I’m just surprised you're not trying to deny that you were Potter-obsessed at school,” Pansy said, eyes narrowing.

Draco shrugged. “What’s the point, you’d all just shoot me down.”

“You are learning,” Pansy said.

“Took your time,” Greg said, jostling Draco fondly.

“As Spiro said, everyone learns eventually,” Draco said. “And now I’m going to go find our delightful hostess and pay her my congratulations.”

“Try to pretend you didn’t just find out the reason we’re all here,” Pansy called after him.

Draco knew he ought to spend more time with his friends. He’d missed the acerbic tone of their banter. If Harry were warm and burning whiskey, his friends were vodka, freezing and intolerable but familiar.

Draco was on his best behaviour with Longbottom, handing him the bottle of Champagne he’d bought for Millie. They’d spoken once or twice over the years but avoided each other during all social situations. Draco hadn’t seen a need to make an effort before; however, now he wanted to prove to Harry it would be okay if Harry went public with their relationship. He wanted to be someone Harry would be proud to show around.

He found that Longbottom was more charming than Draco had ever given him credit for. Perhaps it was growing up, or perhaps it was cutting the head off Nagini, but whatever it was that had made Longbottom finally feel confident had done him a world of good.

“I hope you’re not terrorising him,” Millicent said, shooting Draco a hard look as she topped up their drinks.

“We’re having a delightful conversation about gardening, isn’t that right Longbottom?”

“Shockingly, yes.”

Millie narrowed her eyes at Draco. “What do you know about gardening?”

“I picked up a thing or two from years of helping Mother direct the elves,” Draco said, “She won Grounds of the Year three years in a row after all.”

Longbottom nodded, pudgy face lighting up as he looked at Millicent. They made a good pair, evenly matched in the width of their shoulders. “I saw that she was in the running again this year.”

“Is she?”

“Not even speaking to your own mother.” Millie tutted. “The dick must be phenomenal.”

Draco let Longbottom swiftly change the subject. He knew if he gave his friends any ground about his mysterious partner they’d never let go. Slytherins were worse than dragons when they caught a scent.

He was talking to Theo about Theo’s latest research paper into the different kinds of Greek love when Harry finally made an appearance, walking through the doors flanked by Granger and Weasley and spewing apologies about getting held up at the Burrow.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Theo murmured.

“What exactly is it you think I’m going to do?”

“Something stupid because Potter makes you stupid.”

 _That_ , Draco thought, _was the understatement of the century._

Draco took a sip of his Pimms, watching and waiting for Harry to spot him.

He didn’t have to wait long. As if drawn by a magnet, within seconds Harry’s gaze  was on him. His mouth fell open just the slightest, while Draco’s own mouth curled up, an apostrophe of a smile.

“Don’t wind him up,” Theo said, pinching his side.

“I’m not,” Draco said, not breaking Harry’s gaze. He wasn’t going to pretend there was nothing going on. He wasn’t going to be the one to fold. He arched an eyebrow and Harry flushed, spinning around so Draco was left staring at his back.

“Good to know he’s still a git,” Theo said. Draco nodded, trying to pretend his stomach wasn’t caving in.

He’d always known Harry would probably deny knowing him in public, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. He hadn’t expected to feel like his heart was bleeding.

Harry’s endless excuses and reasons sliced across Draco’s skin as he stared at Harry’s back. Every whisper and promise that Harry was _waiting for the right_ _time_ mocked him. It was never going to be the right time.

The public praised Harry for his honesty, for his unflinching inability to tolerate political bullshit.

Draco knew better. Harry had spent most of his life withholding the truth. During the war he’d become a boy built of secrets. Draco wasn’t sure Harry knew how to live without a secret anymore.

He couldn’t say he was much better, and Draco didn’t judge Harry for keeping secrets. Draco understood using secrets as a security blanket… he just didn’t like being a dirty secret himself. He hated how Harry was ashamed of them.

He hated the world for teaching Harry they were something to be ashamed of.

“I’m going to the loo,” Draco said, finishing off the last of his Pimms and walking away from Theo.

“Draco…” Theo said before sighing. Draco presumed he’d accepted defeat.

“Excuse me,” Draco said, brushing past Harry, pausing to nod his head and greet Granger (they saw each other around the charity circle) before moving on.

Draco took his time in the bathroom, cooling off and getting his thoughts straight. He could keep his calm and play Harry’s game. He wasn’t going to lose the plot.

All of Draco’s attempts to keep his calm evaporated when he walked out the bathroom to find Harry leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t say you’d be here.”

“Oh, you can speak to me now no one’s here can you?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder, and before Draco could point out that Harry hadn’t bloody well told Draco he’d be here either, he found himself being pushed back into the bathroom with Harry crowding in after him.

“What are you doing?” Draco demanded as Harry threw up a Silencing Charm and a Locking Spell. “Well, you can stop worrying now, Harry, no one will find us here.”

“Don’t be a git.”

Draco leaned back against the sink and sneered. “Yes, of course, _I’m_ the git in this situation.”

“Well, you are,” Harry said, his fists clenching.

“All I did was come to my friend’s moving in party, the same as you.”

“You could have told me you were coming!”

“What, so you could have not come?”

“No, so I could have prepared how to deal with having all of my friends here and you as well!”

“Oh, so was ignoring me not what you wanted to do?”

Harry clenched his jaw and Draco smiled — there was nothing genuine in the gesture. “Obviously I’d like to do this a different way.”

“Well, why don’t we then? My friends have been ribbing me for ages about who I’m shacked up with. I imagine yours have too!” Draco gestured at the door and raised his eyebrows. “It would be the easiest thing in the world to go out there and show we’re together.”

Harry leaned back against the door, thick brows furrowed. “I don’t want to steal Nev’s thunder.”

“Then let’s show them all that we’re friends and they can do the rest of the work.”

“No, I… I just don’t want to detract from Neville’s big day. Even me and you being friends is going to be big talk.”

Draco pushed off the sink and stepped toward Harry, his lip still curled into a sneer. Harry stared back at him and swallowed, Draco’s gaze tracking the movement.

“Can I leave then if we’re all sorted? Or are you going to finally admit to me that this isn’t about attention?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“I don’t know, otherwise I wouldn’t have—”

“—You clearly still don’t want to admit we’re together!”

Harry scowled. “I never said that.”

“I mean you have literally said you don’t want to admit to being together, multiple times.”

“I’m just not ready to come out.”

“And I respect that. It’s fucking hard, I know that!” Draco said, his shoulders slumping. “However, I don’t want to live my life in the closet. I’ve come out once, I don’t want to go back in.”

“I don’t want you to have to.”

“It just makes me feel like you don’t want anyone to know it’s me.”

“Obviously that’s not it,” Harry said, stepping forward and cradling Draco’s face.

“There’s nothing obvious about it.”

Harry shook his head frantically. “I promise it’s not that! I wouldn’t be doing this at all if I was ashamed of you or whatever you think I am. It’s honestly just the fact I’ve had so much of my life in the media, and they always ruin it. I never dated before you because I grabbed coffee with a mate and it would be everywhere and being twisted! They accused girls of dosing me with love potions, and I don’t even know what they’d…”

“…what they’d say about me,” Draco finished, sitting back against the sink. Harry followed him, taking his hands and entwining their fingers. “They’d think I’d Imperiused you or something.”

“I could throw off the Imperius Curse at fourteen,” Harry said, stepping between Draco’s legs.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Show off.”

Harry gave him a small smile, and Draco tried to pout back but couldn’t stop an answering smile from playing at his mouth.

“They’d accuse me of some kind of Dark Arts,” Draco continued, hating that no one could ever imagine Harry Potter had just fallen for him. He hated them all.

Harry nodded, one hand sliding through Draco’s hair. “I just don’t want to ruin this.”

“And what is this?”

Harry leaned in and brushed his lips against Draco’s. “This is something I don’t want ruined.”

Draco slid further onto the sink, hoping it would be able to take his weight, and wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. He mouthed his way across Harry’s jaw to Harry’s ear, nipping at the lobe and whispering: “Will you at least fuck me?”

“Jesus,” Harry hissed, arching his neck as Draco’s teeth scraped across his skin.

“If I can’t tell them all that you’re mine, I want you to fuck me hard enough that I can’t forget it.”

“Would you forget it if I didn’t fuck you?” Harry teased.

Draco groaned, dragging his nails down Harry’s back. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”

“Is that even a question?” Harry said, hands knotting in Draco’s hair and dragging his mouth back to his for a searing kiss.

“Let’s christen Millie and Longbottom’s new house.” Draco laughed into the kiss, shimming Harry’s top up so he could feel his skin.

“We’re awful people,” Harry said, pulling back and shaking his head. He laughed, his lips already red and his hair a mess.

Draco burnt with want.

“Maybe the wizarding world is right, maybe I am corrupting you.”

“Or maybe I’m just not as good as they all think.”

Draco grinned, wild and uninhibited. This was the Harry he loved.

Harry leaned in again and kissed Draco. Draco knew if any of those stuck up reporters could see Harry like this and the desperate, filthy way he kissed, they’d never call him their _Golden Boy_ again.

“Jeans off,” Harry growled, stepping back as Draco pushed down his jeans to the floor. He only got his boxers halfway off, watching as Harry massaged his crotch.

Draco’s breath hitched when Harry unzipped his own jeans and stepped forward.

“Presuming you don’t have lube?” Harry asked.

“Shockingly no, I didn’t bring lube with me.”

“Shut up.” Harry laughed, leaning in and kissing Draco quiet. “Prep charms, good?”

“Anything that gets your cock in me quickly is good.”

“Eager.” Harry’s breath was warm against Draco’s cheek as he pulled his own boxers down.

Draco gazed at Harry’s cock. He was never going to tire of the sight of it.

He felt a tingle through his body and the chill of the sink against his now-slick arse. Harry quirked a smile at him, and Draco’s boxers vanished.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Draco hissed as Harry cast a Protection Charm.

“They were in the way,” Harry said, pulling Draco closer.

Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. “You’re such an arse.”

Draco’s head fell forward as the blunt feeling of Harry’s cock pushed against his hole.

“You complaining?” Harry asked, teetering on the edge of sliding in.

“No, but I’ll fucking start if you don’t fuck me right now.”

“You’ve a foul mouth,” Harry said, his voice sweet as a caress as he pushed into Draco. Draco bit down on Harry’s shoulder, gasping at the intrusion. The knife-like pain blended into pleasure as his body accommodated Harry, who began rocking in slow and shallow thrusts.

“You love it.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said, face scrunching as he continued search for the right angle. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Draco’s response died in his mouth as Harry drove forward hard, cock brushing against Draco’s prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco mumbled, mouth moving against Harry’s neck, finger tangled in his shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Harry nodded, his fingers pressing into Draco’s hips. Draco wrapped his legs around Harry, pulling him closer, never wanting to let him go.

Harry’s hand wrapped around his cock, hand moving in time to each of his thrusts.

“Oh my—” Draco started before a prim voice cut through the air.

“Honestly, where did he go?”

“I don’t know, he said he needed a piss.”

Harry froze, balls deep in Draco, as they stared at each other while Granger and Weasley stood outside the bathroom chatting.

“Will the wards hold?” Draco murmured, his lips against Harry’s cheek. Harry nodded, seemingly unable to speak. “Good.” Draco smirked, shifting his hips and drinking in the moan Harry let out. “‘Cause if you stop fucking me, I’m going to kill you.”

Harry pulled back, met Draco’s eyes, and laughed, low and throaty. “I can’t fuck you with them standing outside.”

Draco dug his heels into Harry’s arse, hands pressing on the sink as he began to slowly (and shakily) fuck himself on Harry’s cock.

“Do you really want to stop?”

“Maybe we missed him?” Granger said.

“I don’t know, can’t have gone too far, unless he’s hiding from Malfoy.”

Draco glared at Harry who, in apology, moved his hips again, a cheeky grin on his face that faded to ecstasy as his thrusts became faster, harder, more erratic.

Draco held onto Harry, cradling his face and kissing him. Their teeth clashed and it had none of the finesse they’d perfected over the last few months, but it was perfect. It was what Draco needed. He thought it was what they both needed.

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco takes everyone’s thanks with grace. He shakes their hands and he returns their smiles. He laughs at their jokes about secrets and he speaks of his future projects.

He tries not to search for Harry and eventually excuses himself to the bathroom.

He feels Harry’s magic wrapping around him the second he steps into the bathroom. He hears the click of the door locking and the weight of a Silencing Charm settling around the room.

“Planning to reenact the last time you locked us in a bathroom at a party?” Draco asks, turning to find Harry standing against the sinks. “Or are we swapping roles?”

“You wrote about us.”

Draco considers Harry’s words, exhausted again. He’s tired of arguing with Harry. He’d presumed they’d moved on from that a couple of years ago.

“I told you I was going to,” he says, “and don’t worry, no one knows it's about you.”

“ _I_ know.”

Draco laughs because Harry’s words are so fucking stupid he doesn’t know how else to react. “Obviously _you_ know.”

Harry drags his hands through his hair. It’s sticking up all over the place and reminds Draco of how it always looked after sex.

“Nice sex hair,” he says to see Harry flinch. “What do you want from me, Potter?”

“You used to call me Harry.”

“We used to do a lot of things.”

They stand in silence, a chasm of unspoken words and fractured hearts between them.

“What do you want from me?” Draco repeats. “I’ve people to talk to.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Draco shakes his head, stepping back and hating that all he wants to do is step forward. “You don’t get to say things like that.”

“Why not? You were the one who wrote about us!”

Draco can hear it in Harry’s voice. He’s itching for a fight. Harry’s best at that; he’s good with anger. Draco is too, and he can feel his body responding, hackles rising.

They’ve always been explosive.

“And you’re the one who ended things!”

“You told me to walk away!”

“Because you wanted to live in the fucking closet!”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“I know! But we’d been together for a year!”

“And you threw that all away!”

Draco bites his lip hard enough to bleed as he stares at Harry. Harry’s breathing is ragged, and his eyes are wild.

“I wasn’t the reason we ended, Harry, that was you.”

“They’d have ruined us.”

“I didn’t care about everyone knowing! I just wanted a future!”

“I didn’t want to risk things changing!”

“Things needed to change! Relationships aren’t supposed to be stagnant,” Draco said. “You’re Harry Potter, you fight for everything and everyone, but you didn’t fight for us.”

Harry doesn’t answer. He’s shaking his head and moving his mouth, but no words are coming out.

“You didn’t fight for us,” Draco repeats. “I tried so hard to be happy with your scraps, but I couldn’t do it. I deserved better.”

“They weren’t scraps,” Harry says, his voice croaky and his cheeks flushed. Draco wonders if he’s going to cry or start shouting again. “I loved you.”

 _Loved_.

Draco still loves the arsehole.

“Then why didn’t you fight for me?”

“By the time I realised, I thought it was too late.”

Draco doesn’t say anything.

Harry sighs and rubs his hand across his face. He looks broken, and Draco wants to celebrate, but he can’t. All he ever wanted was for Harry to be happy — ideally with him.

“I fought for you in the book.”

“Alfie fought for Victor.”

“I should have fought for you.”

“Yes,” Draco says, “you should have.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Draco closes his eyes and takes a breath, as Harry knocks down each wall that Draco has spent the last couple of years building. He can’t tell if it’s love or hate that's burning inside him. Harry’s always made him feel everything in extremes.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry repeats, stepping forward, a desperate look on his face. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The English language fails Draco.

“I’ve missed you, and I’d do anything to go back in time.”

“Eheu fugaces labuntur anni,” Draco murmurs as Harry closes the distance between them. Draco wants to reach out and touch, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to be the one to close the gap.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a reminder to live in the moment.”

Harry nods. “Sounds like good advice.”

“It probably is.”

“The problem is,” Harry says, lifting his hand up and ghosting his fingers across Draco’s cheek, “I’ve never been very good at letting go of the past.”

His face is full of such longing that Draco can’t breathe.

“I’ve been trying to,” Draco says.

Harry nods. “Has it worked?”

“No,” Draco concedes and they’re kissing. Draco’s back presses against the hardwood of the door as Harry kisses him with everything he has. Draco is relieved to know that Harry still kisses as if he could die at any moment.

Draco knows this is an awful idea. He’s still in love with the git, and he doesn’t know how much closer Harry’s got to sorting out all of his shit, but Draco doesn’t care because his mind isn’t working properly. His body is on overload, all of his senses brimming with the sensation of Harry.

Draco clutches Harry like a man on the verge of drowning.

* * *

**Past**

 

Draco shifted in the sheets, eyes fluttering open at the sound of Harry humming along to the wireless.

“It’s early.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry said, rolling over to face Draco. His cheek was creased from the press of the pillow, and his green eyes were hooded with sleep. “You just went to sleep too late. Again.”

“I was writing,” Draco groaned, batting Harry pathetically as Harry pulled him closer. “Being creative and stuff.”

“Were you writing about us again?”

“I was writing in general, don’t be so self-obsessed.”

Harry laughed, the sound tickling Draco’s neck as Harry nuzzled him. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Would you actually read it if I wrote about us?”

“Are you trying to suggest I don’t read?”

“Yes, also your breath smells worse than usual this morning,” Draco said, batting Harry away again as he stuck his tongue out. “It’s disgusting. There’s actually something wrong with you. You should see a Healer.”

“Oh, because your breath smells like roses when you wake up.”

“Of course it does, I have no flaws. I’m glad after nearly nine months you’ve learnt this.”

Harry snorted, pressing a kiss to Draco’s jaw. “So is that what this book is, you revealing all my dirty secrets?”

“Yes, I’m telling everyone that your breath smells and you eat food when it’s definitely gone out of date and you rewear socks even though they smell, and worst of all I’m revealing that you love nothing more than sticking your cock in my arse.”

Harry pinched him. “Don’t be a prat, you know that’s not a dirty secret.”

Draco hummed. He was too tired to get into another fight about their secret relationship. “Fine, I’ll tell them about your love of rimming, that will really get them talking.”

He snuggled closer to Harry, pulling the duvet tightly around them and thanking the gods for Sunday mornings. They were meant to be spent in bed, curled up with Harry with no intention of going anywhere.

“It’s not my fault your arse is so edible.”

“It really is,” Draco said, burrowing down and leaning his head on Harry’s chest. “It’s something I put on my CV actually.”

“As you should,” Harry said. “Have you mentioned your love of sucking my cock?”

“No, I’ve mentioned that I find it tedious and that I always get jaw ache,” Draco said, flicking Harry’s nipple and smiling.

“Take out the tedious and it just makes it sound like I have a big dick.”

Draco didn’t have to see Harry’s face to know he was grinning like an idiot. He glanced up anyway because he never grew tired of seeing Harry’s smile.

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

Harry pouted at him before laughing. Draco poked his dimples, letting Harry pull him in for a kiss. “Still complaining about my breath?”

“Yeah, it’s still disgusting,” Draco mumbled, kissing Harry quiet. He loved the feel of Harry smiling against his lips.

Harry rolled them over so Draco was under him, cock growing hard against Harry’s hip. He could feel Harry’s already semi-hard dick as Harry rolled his hips slowly.

“How disgusting?” Harry asked, moving to kiss Draco’s neck. Draco shuddered as his teeth skimmed a weak spot.

“Fucking foul.”

“Well,” Harry said, biting Draco’s collarbone before dragging his open mouth down to Draco’s nipple. “That’s not very nice of you.”

“Just telling the truth.” Draco’s hands caught in Harry’s hair as Harry’s tongue swirled around his nipple before moving to the other one.

Harry continued kissing his way down Draco’s body, slowly and sloppily before pressing a final kiss to Draco’s nearly fully hard dick.

“Suppose if my breath already smells bad then I’ve got nothing to lose.” Harry propped himself up and grinned stupidly at Draco. His cheeky smile didn’t match the movement of his fingers now tracing across Draco’s hole.

“Fucking foul,” Draco repeated, before rolling over and burying his head in the pillow as Harry’s stubbled face brushed his arse.

A Cleaning Spell settled over Draco, and he wiggled his arse.

“You really going to complain?”

“Only if you don’t get this tongue in my arse right this—” Draco did not finish his complaint because Harry leant in and with a firm stroke ran his tongue over Draco’s hole.

“Yeah, that,” Draco said. Harry laughed, the sensation vibrating through Draco as he smiled into the pillow, before moaning as Harry returned to licking and sucking at his arse as if it were his saving grace. Draco definitely didn’t have any more complaints.

Later, after they’d showered and washed off the mess from their morning sex, Draco perched atop the counter watching as Harry padded across the kitchen.

Draco cradled his cup of tea between his hands. He always insisted on using Harry’s _The Chosen Mug_ cup that Harry hated. It was a garish shade of bright green that Draco supposed was meant to mimic Harry’s eyes with a slash of a lightning bolt through the jagged font.

Harry said Weasley had bought it, which raised Weasley in Draco’s estimations.

“Scrambled or fried?” Harry asked, shaking the egg carton in Draco’s face.

“Scrambled obviously.”

Harry cracked the eggs into a mixing bowl. “Why obviously?”

“I find the yolk weird if it’s not all mixed in.”

“You’re weird.”

“Brilliant,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. He loved mornings like this, Harry cooking for him in only a worn pair of tartan sleeping trousers. “I’ll have you know I’m sensitive about that.”

“What? Your fear of egg yolk?”

“Yes.”

“You should be sensitive, it’s embarrassing.”

“I can’t believe you’re mocking me over something so close to my heart.” Draco pouted as Harry turned to stare at him, an eyebrow raised, as he beat the eggs.

“I’m not mocking you, I’m judging you.”

“How is that any better?”

Harry shrugged. The oven flared to life and a saucepan popped into place on top of it as Harry poured the eggs in and began to stir. Draco found Harry’s fusion of Muggle and magical cooking charming.

Draco let Harry get on with the cooking and turned to stare out of the window at the ragtag garden that backed off Grimmauld Place. It was a forest of overgrown weeds and plants, thorn bushes entangled and fighting for space, strange flowers blossoming in stranger places. There was a cracked fountain in the centre with water that trickled rather than flowed, but that didn’t stop the birds trying to drink from it. Draco watched as a robin tried to beat the November frost for a drink.

“Your garden is a descriptive writer’s paradise.”

“My garden is a shithole.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, “but I quite like it.”

“Your opinion is invalid, you’re afraid of egg yolks,” Harry said, tipping the eggs onto two plates and  getting the bacon from the grill.

“What does that have to do with knowing anything about gardens?”

“Nothing,” Harry confessed, putting toast on the plates and moving over to Draco, running his hands up Draco’s thighs.

Draco glared at him in jest, trying not to shiver as Harry’s fingers pressed into his muscles. “Shut up and eat your second breakfast.”

“Nice,” Harry scoffed, squeezing Draco’s thighs and moving over to his plate.

Draco hopped off the counter and followed Harry into the living room.

Draco wanted to treasure moments like this where they were both happy. They were spending more and more of their time arguing nowadays.

Draco blamed the fact that they only ever hung out together as Harry wouldn’t have a single thing about their relationship go public. Harry blamed Draco for being too prickly.

Draco called Harry a coward. Harry yelled that Draco was being a hypocrite. They argued and argued and either fucked or stormed off. They’d fight each other tooth and nail every step of the way, but they’d always be drawn back together in the end.

Theo tried to tell Draco that whatever he was doing with his _mystery man_ wasn’t healthy. Draco didn’t care. He ignored Theo’s comments just as he ignored Pansy’s warnings that he was going to lose them all if he didn’t learn to merge the two worlds together.

He knew this, and he wanted what they wanted. But he wanted Harry more, and so he kept playing Harry’s game, keeping their secret.

He found it cathartic to write their relationship into a novel form. He dealt with their arguments, and he was able to imagine a future where Harry (or Alfie in the novel) decided it was time to deal with the truth head on.

Draco wasn’t sure how he wanted that to happen yet. He’d changed their history enough that no one would guess it could be him and Harry. He’d made Victor and Alfie two boys who had grown up with different views on the war, but he hadn’t made them the veterans he and Harry had been forced to be.

It was easier for Victor and Alfie. Aside from the trauma their entire generation carried from fighting a war so young, they didn’t have the depth of Draco and Harry’s history. He’d still decided on enemies to lovers, but Draco had let them build up their friendship first. Alfie and Victor had taken longer to fall into bed than Draco and Harry.

Draco was determined to give his characters their happy ending because he was determined to get one himself.

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco pushes Harry back until Harry’s arse is pressed against the sinks. Draco needs this, he needs to feel like he’s not submitting to Harry. He needs to know that they’re equal.

Push and pull. They challenged each other in ways no one else could.

Harry could hide the truth from everyone else, but not Draco.

Harry’s mouth is feverish against his, burning with want. Draco thinks he lets out a moan as Harry bites down on his bottom lip, but it could have been Harry moaning as Draco slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s hands are as fantastic as Draco remembered, pressing into Draco’s arse and dragging down his back. Draco doesn’t ask if he’s been with other people. He doesn’t want to know.

“I need you,” Harry says pulling away, his eyes shining.

“Yes, yes, yes,” is all Draco can say, the final _yes_ swallowed as Harry kisses him again.  He doesn’t need words anymore, not when Harry’s kissing him. Words had been his defences for the last couple of years without Harry, but he can feel them shattering bit by bit as Harry’s kisses take him apart.

They’re kissing as hard and hungrily as they did the final time. Draco remembers with a bittersweet pain that slices through him, but he pushes it aside. His hips buck forward as Harry grinds against him.

“Tell me what you want,” Harry says, pulling back, his lips swollen. Draco runs his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip, taking the moment to calm his breathing. His plan backfires when Harry sucks Draco’s thumb into his mouth, cheeks hollowing.

Draco’s unable to look anywhere but at Harry’s pink lips as Harry sucks on his thumb, teeth scraping his knuckle.

When Harry lets Draco’s thumb fall from his mouth, Draco can barely choke out: “That. I want that.”

Harry reclaims Draco’s mouth with his own, his hands on Draco’s shoulders, spinning him around so once again Draco’s against the sink. Harry grinds against him, hard and slow, his hands already working on the buttons on Draco’s robes. Draco starts on Harry’s robes because while he may be the one getting his cock sucked, he doesn’t want to be the only one naked. He’s missed the sight of Harry naked.

He’s missed Harry.

It isn’t long until they’re both in only their boxers and there’s a small voice in Draco’s head saying _Fucking Harry Potter at a Ministry Gala is an awful idea!_ But Harry drops to his knees, and all of Draco’s doubts fly out the window.

He traces his hand across Harry’s jaw as Harry stares up at him. He’d burn the world down for Harry’s mouth, for Harry.

Harry nuzzles his face into Draco’s crotch, his mouth open and inviting on Draco’s boxer briefs.

“Please,” Draco begs. He can’t wait any longer.

Harry understands without Draco saying anything more and yanks Draco’s boxers down, tonguing at the head of Draco’s prick.

Draco squeezes his eyes closed and then forces them open because if this is the last time he ever gets Harry, he wants to savour every moment. He watches as Harry’s tongue plays with his slit, hands pressing in Draco’s hips.

Draco grips the edge of the sink before deciding he wants his hands in Harry’s hair. Harry’s fucking incredible hair that’s wild and untameable just like Harry. Draco can’t believe he ever hated it.

Harry takes more and more of Draco into his mouth, tongue working as he goes. Draco’s unable to do anything but babble, an incoherent stream of words as he watches his cock move in and out of Harry’s mouth. He shifts his hips forward experimentally, groaning as Harry moans in agreement. He begins to move his hips, tentatively at first, then firmer as Harry’s hands slip around to his arse, pushing Draco further into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Draco whimpers, as Harry pulls off with a filthy pop and runs his tongue across Draco’s balls, causing Draco’s legs to shake as if they may give out.

“I was hoping you would actually.”

“What?” Draco’s mind isn’t working yet because Harry’s still on his knees, his lips red and his chin wet with saliva.

“Fuck me,” Harry says, running his tongue from the base to tip of Draco’s cock.

Draco nearly comes there and then, and his mind runs on autopilot as he yanks Harry back up and kisses him dirtily, stabbing his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

“I’d like that too,” Draco says.

“Good.” Harry tugs down his boxers. “I wanted you so much when you were speaking. I still want you so much with every breath I take.”

“Now who’s the poetic one.” Draco doesn’t dwell on Harry’s words and instead spins him around so they’re facing each other in the mirror. Draco steps close behind him, running his hands over Harry’s arse and squeezing. Drinking in Harry’s moan. “Then again, the things I could write about your arse.”

“The things you have written,” Harry pants. “I wanked off to your sex scenes.”

Draco closes his eyes and presses his face into Harry’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I’m not going to be able to last.”

“Good, ‘cause I nearly came just sucking you off.”

Draco’s knees buckle but he manages to keep his footing as he takes in the wanton look on Harry’s face.

“Cast the charms.” Draco runs his hands over the sinews of Harry’s back, watching them tense at his touch and the arch of Harry’s back as he prepares himself. Wandlessly. Wordlessly. “You marvellous creature.” Draco’s in awe. He’d forgotten the heady feeling of being with Harry. “You brilliant being.”

Draco feels a Protection Charm wrap around his cock, and Harry shoves his arse back.

“Eager,” Draco hisses at the sensation. Having learnt his lesson, he takes his cock in his hand, lining it up against Harry’s slick hole, and presses in. He has to pause, inch by inch, breathing in and thinking of Slughorn because otherwise he’s going to come before he’s fully seated.

Harry moans, and if Draco didn’t trust Harry’s Silencing Charms, he’d worry the whole Gala could hear them.

Draco knows he’s undoing two years of work in one fuck. He knows he’s an idiot, but he also knows he wants this. He’s never had the strongest resolve.

He shifts his hips forward, letting Harry get used to him before pulling back and driving in. He watches the way Harry’s back moves, the way Harry gives as good as he gets. No one has felt as good as Harry. No one before or since has undone Draco like this.

Draco fucks into him, hands on Harry’s hips. His fingers won’t bruise, but Draco wants to. _Mine_.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry says.

Draco glances up and nearly comes on the spot at the sight of them both in the mirror, Harry’s head thrown back and his neck outstretched. His mouth is open as he pants in time to Draco’s thrusts.

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m close,” Draco says, unable to look away as Harry meets his eyes.

“Me too.”

Draco moves his hand round and wanks Harry off as he fucks him, Harry’s body writhing against him. Draco’s thrusts become more erratic until he buries himself in Harry and comes, the force of it shaking his entire core as he collapses against Harry’s back, with barely enough energy to keep wanking Harry off until Harry spills over his hand muttering a stream of nonsensical curses.

Draco doesn’t pull out straight away. He stays there, arms wrapped around Harry as they stare at each other, everything they need to say hanging between them.

* * *

**Past**

 

Draco nursed his gin and tonic as he stared at the article in front of him. He let his finger trace the line of Harry’s smiling face, the curve of his jaw and the tease of his smile. He looked awkward in the picture, his grin not quite meeting his eyes, but he still looked charming enough. Charming enough to a general public who didn’t know him with the intimacy Draco did.

Not that it mattered how well Draco knew him.

 _Oh, well it’s an honour, I guess_. Draco dragged his nail across Harry’s words, the jagged edge he’d been chewing catching on the thin paper.

It was an article about Harry’s latest charity work, specifically his work in the Magical Foster care system. The rest of the article is fine and dandy, but _The Wand_ had slipped in one question that Draco couldn’t look away from.

**_And how does it feel to be voted the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor once again?_ **

_“Oh, well it’s an honour, I guess” Harry Potter laughs, ever the bashful and modest Saviour we’ve grown accustomed to. We assure him he deserves it, causing him to laugh and run a hand through that famous messy hair._

**_This is your fourth year winning the award, as you’ve been single since the war ended, and all the witches out there are wondering when you’ll pick a nice girl to settle down with?_ **

_“I’m really enjoying just learning about myself right now, so I can’t see settling down any time soon,” Harry Potter says, breaking every witches’ heart._

_And one wizard_ , Draco thought. He’d do anything for Harry to throw him the slightest bone, the smallest bit of evidence he might be closer to telling the world about them. Actually, Draco didn’t need the world at that point, he just wanted to tell _someone_.

He was tired of keeping secrets. He wanted to invite his friends over to dinner and for them all to sit there, wine in hand, speaking freely. He wanted to complain to Pansy about Harry being irritating, he wanted her to roll her eyes and laugh because they both knew that Draco was head over heels in love with the prat. He wanted Blaise to give him shit for his Potter obsession, Theo to theorise about what kind of love it is, and for Greg to say he was happy for him.

None of it. Draco wasn’t allowed any of it.

Harry didn’t trust Draco’s friends not to tell the media, and Draco tried to pretend it didn’t sting.

“ _The only way to ensure no one ruins this is to keep it between us_.”

Draco wanted to ask how Granger and Weasley would ruin it. They were Harry’s friends. They’d kept all of Harry’s other secrets.

Draco knew it wasn’t about the media with Granger and Weasley, it was the fact Harry was scared of how they’d react. Harry, whether or not he knew it, was still ashamed of Draco and of who he’d been.

_Secrets and lies, and painful goodbyes, that’s what Harry Potter is made of._

Draco took another sip of his gin and tonic — he was on his fourth of the evening and feeling it. He’d needed it to numb the a feelings swirling inside him, threatening to boil over.

Harry was supposed to be coming over later — _soon_ — Draco realised, glancing at his clock.

Draco needed to take the edge off so he didn’t do anything stupid. Then again, he had always been prone to doing stupid things when Harry was around. This whole relationship was one of those stupid things.

If Draco had been thinking clearly he would have just told Harry not to bother coming over. It would be the best way to prevent another argument; however, Draco was burning with the need to fight. He could feel it in the set of his shoulders and the twist of his mouth. He was so fucking tired of it all.

Draco didn’t have to wait long. It was only ten minutes and half a gin and tonic later that the floo roared to life and Harry walked through. He dusted the ash off his shoulders and grinned at Draco.

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

Draco shrugged. “Was thinking we could go out on the pull.”

“The pull?”

Draco kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and crossed his legs. “Yeah, the pull.”

“Like you want to go clubbing?”

“No, I was thinking we could just go out on the pull together.”

“But why wo—”

“That’s what the most eligible bachelor does, right?”

Harry’s gaze darted around the room before seeing the article next to Draco’s feet. Draco watched his mind click into gear, adding up the clues and processing how to act next. He’d have made a fantastic Auror, Draco thought despite his irritation. Harry’s was more brilliant than anyone gave him credit for.

“You know that article’s ridiculous, right?”

Draco crossed his arms. Harry had made one crucial error in his calculations. He hadn’t caught on to how desperately Draco wanted this fight. “The bits about your charity work didn’t strike me as ridiculous.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously that bit wasn’t.”

“So the article isn’t ridiculous?”

Harry’s fists clenched and Draco smirked. He was glad to see a year of fucking Harry hadn’t made it any harder for Draco to get under his skin.

“The bit you’re pissed off about is ridiculous.”

“What, the bit where you don’t deny being a bachelor? Or the bit where you rub salt in the wound and say you have no intention of settling down?” Draco flicked two fingers at Harry as if to represent his two points.

“Both! I’m settled down with you! We spend nearly every night together! We’ve been together over a year.”

“Yes, I particularly enjoyed our one year anniversary, how did we spend it again?”

“We got takeaway!”

“Oh, was that our anniversary. I thought it was another Tuesday night.”

“I asked if you wanted to go somewhere and you said no!”

“You meant somewhere Muggle.”

“And what’s wr—”

“—oh for fuck’s sake,” Draco interrupted, getting to his feet to meet Harry, who was storming over. “This isn’t about me being a Muggle-hating bastard or whatever you still think I am.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Draco could feel the first pinpricks of Harry’s rage sparking through the room. It only urged him on.

“You were about to say something like that,” Draco said. “‘ _Oh, and what’s wrong with a Muggle restaurant?’_ You were going to ask,” Draco impersonated, making his voice a bad impression of Harry’s slow husky tones.

“I don’t sound like that!” Harry growled, “and what is wrong with a Muggle restaurant?”

Draco brought his hands to his chest. “We are wizards! I know this may have escaped your attention at some point in this relationship, but we don’t live in the Muggle world!”

“I nev—”

“And I actually quite enjoy leaving the house!”

“We lea—”

“We don’t do fucking anything! We don’t speak to anyone! We have no friends as a couple!”

“We both like Millicent and Neville.”

“Not _together_!”

Harry scoffed and Draco just about refrained from hexing him. “What do you even mean?”

“I mean,” Draco said, slowing his words down for Harry. He watched Harry’s jaw clench. He knew Harry hated people acting like he was stupid, which was exactly why Draco was doing it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had all those gin and tonics. “I am friends with Millicent and Neville, and you are friends with Millicent and Neville. We never out with them _together,_ and if by chance we happen to be at the same event all you do is ignore me, to the point that—”

“—what else am I meant to do?—”

“—all my friends think you’re a childish arsehole who resorts to the silent treatment,” Draco finished as if Harry hadn’t interrupted him.

“What else am I meant to do?”

Draco was left wondering if perhaps Harry really was the idiot Draco had always believed him to be when they were young. “Be my friend?”

“I can’t just—”

“Granger doesn’t hate me.”

“Don’t interrupt me!”

“You’ve interrupted me!”

Harry stepped forward, and Draco felt his magic snap through the room, and he realised he was stone-cold sober. All the emotions the alcohol had dulled rushed to the surface.

“You were fucking drunk, now _calm_ down.”

“You can’t just use a Sobering Spell on me without asking!”

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath. “I wanted you to sober up so you could see how stupid this argument is.”

“You thought I’d calm down?” Draco laughed, shaking his head. “This isn’t about the fucking article.”

“I’d hope not.”

“Stop belittling how I feel!” Draco didn’t mean to say that, but he didn’t take the words back. “All you do is belittle how I feel!”

“How—”

“This entire relationship caters to your wants!”

“My wants? Do you know what I’m sacrificing to be with you?!”

“You shouldn’t be sacrificing things to be with me! Don’t you get that? I shouldn’t be sacrificing who I am to be with you!”

“And who are you?”

“I’m a gay man! I’m an out and proud gay man! I’m an ex-Death Eater who lives with his mistakes and doesn’t hide from them! I work my arse off to make up for them!” Draco felt his whole body slump and he stepped away from Harry. “And I don’t get to be either of those two things by hiding away with you.”

Draco wished he had hexed Harry. The look on his face would probably hurt less.

“And you don’t get to be you by hiding away with me.”

“I...”

“You are so full of love, Harry, it spills out from you. You’re not you without your friends and your family. You can never be truly happy in the dark, and that’s what you feel you have to be if you’re with me.”

Harry shook his head, the movement so desperate it seemed like he was hoping he could make Draco unspeak the words he’d said. Draco forced himself to remain standing as Harry stared at him. He wanted to collapse onto the floor. He wanted to run to Harry and kiss him.

“But I love you.”

Draco felt his breath leave him as Harry’s words cut into him, sharper and deeper than the _Sectumsempra_ curse ever had. He knew Harry loved him, but they’d never said it out loud before. They’d never felt the need.

“Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus.”

“Don’t quote fuc—”

“—Love is rich with both honey and venom,” Draco translated. “Love doesn’t fix everything.”

“But…”

Draco didn’t interrupt Harry this time. He let Harry stand there and grapple with the words he wanted to say.

Draco felt tired now that the confession was out in the open. He felt stripped raw, like he was holding his heart out for Harry to take. He’d thought giving his heart to someone like Harry Potter would make it safe He hadn’t expected it to end up ripped in half.

Harry gave up on trying to speak, and before Draco knew what was happening Harry was on him, his hands cupping Draco’s face. Draco stared into Harry’s eyes, wide and earnest. Harry didn’t want this to end, Draco could see that. Draco didn’t want it to end either.

He let Harry kiss him. Harry had always been a man of action, not words.

Harry’s kiss was burning, bruising and Draco wanted to give in. He wanted to let Harry kiss his fears away, to know that there was hope for things to work out.

If this were a story Harry’s kiss would have been enough. They’d promise to work things out, and they’d find their happy ending.

Draco had read enough books to know that he and Harry were never going to get their happy ending. There were too many loose ends and jagged parts to their story for it to ever be happy.

Draco rested his hands on Harry’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, and then he gently pushed Harry away. Harry’s breath was warm against his lips as Harry tried to kiss him again.

Draco wanted to, he wanted to so desperately that he felt like he could shatter from it. But he wanted a proper relationship more — he deserved a proper relationship. He wanted Harry to be proud to be his boyfriend. He wanted Harry to be proud of whom he was.

Draco wanted to be proud to be himself too.

“Say you’ll tell them,” Draco whispered, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

One final chance hung between them.

“Tell your friends about us. Tell me you have plans to tell them about us. Tell me we won’t be a secret forever.”

Harry swallowed and Draco stepped back. Harry wasn’t ready for him, they weren’t in the same place anymore. Draco didn’t know if they’d ever be in the same place.

“Draco…” Harry’s voice broke Draco’s heart. Draco could feel himself bleeding out, just like in sixth year. “I… I…”

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say,” Draco said, clenching his fists and letting his nails pierce his skin. Anything to focus on pain that wasn’t Harry.

“No, I can’t just... We can’t just… There’s got to be another way!”

“I’ve told you what I need,” Draco’s voice sounded tired even to his own ears. “I think you should leave.”

“I can’t lose you too.”

The _too_ was the thing that nearly broke Draco. He stood by the threads of pride and dignity alone.

 _Then fight_ , Draco wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Something stopped him.

Harry had never been told to fight before, he’d always just done it. And yet here they were. Draco wondered if he should be proud of having found Harry’s limit. _Him_.

“I think you should leave,” Draco repeated, hating the burning tears prickling at his eyes. Harry’s face was red, his mouth open and his brows furrowed. Draco could see a wet shine in his green eyes, and he wanted to make it all better.

The glimpses and whispers of happiness with Harry weren’t worth the pain anymore.

“Goodbye,” Harry said, his voice catching, and he was gone, a resounding crack the only thing lingering from his presence.

Draco collapsed onto the sofa as he stared where Harry had stood, the last tendrils of Harry’s magic fading away.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, unable to move, as he waited for Harry to come back and fight for everything they’d had together.

Harry never came back.

* * *

**Present**

 

Draco shivers at the familiar feel of Harry’s Cleaning Spell settling over him as he pulls his boxers back up and reaches for his robes — which are currently lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Harry stands there, still naked, leaning against the sinks. He’s not meeting Draco’s eyes, just staring at the surface where his come had been moments ago.

Draco thinks he ought to say something, but he doesn’t dare try. He’s sure he’ll ruin the moment.

“I wanted to come back, but I thought you’d hate me for it.”

Draco sighs. “I think I would have.”

If Harry had come back Draco would have caved. He’d have fallen back into Harry’s arms and all the pain would have been for nothing. It would have been delaying the inevitable. They hadn’t been right for each other, certainly not then.

“Are you happy?” Harry asks, pulling his boxers up and moving toward his own robes.

“Define happy?”

Harry gives Draco a look, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “None of my friends are as pretentious as you.”

“Theo’s a philosopher, I’m only half as pretentious as him.”

Harry laughs, a soft sound that Draco cradles close to his chest as he’s missed it. “I just want to know if you’re happy or not, Draco.”

“I am,” Draco says, “I’ve made myself a good life. I’ve got brilliant friends, Mother’s doing better than ever, I’ve got a successful book, and I’m no longer a social pariah.” His list feels incomplete.

“I’m glad,” Harry says, shuffling his feet. “Romance?”

“Do you really think I’d have just fucked you if there was another guy in the picture?” Draco thinks he would have; he reckons he’d have done anything to have Harry again.

Harry cringes. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“But no,” Draco says, “there’s been no romance.” _Not since you_.

“Yeah, me neither,” Harry says. Draco’s relieved at the confirmation, he knows how good Harry is at hiding things from the press after all. “Had a lot of ‘me’ time.”

“Same.”

“I came out.”

Draco smiles. “I saw, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, looking proud. _He should be,_ Draco thinks. It’s never easy. “Dealt with a lot of the secrets I’d been keeping,” Harry adds.

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up against his will.

“Didn’t tell people about us,” Harry clarifies, and Draco’s not sure if he’s disappointed. “I wanted to, but I thought that’d be pretty shitty of me to not let you tell anyone and then tell my friends… I wanted to though… thought about sending you a letter.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Draco tries to keep himself calm as he stares at Harry. Harry looks more honest than Draco can remember, as if he’s been learning to strip the secrets from his soul. Draco wonders if any one person could ever totally know Harry now.

“You wanted to tell them about us.” It was a statement.

Harry nods. “Yeah.”

Draco doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this news. He isn’t sure if he’s meant to be happy or sad. It’s all he’d ever wanted, but at the same time he feels like the final piece of his and Harry’s relationship is slipping away. He’d been clinging onto the secret for so long that he doesn’t know what he would do without it.

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do.”

“That’s vague,” Draco says, buttoning the last of his robes up. He sees himself in the mirror, cheeks still flushed. Harry’s Cleaning Charm had cleaned up the worst of the sweat and tells of sex. He supposes they’re ready to walk back into the Gala and pretend nothing had happened. Draco knows this part of the story well.

“I want to give us another chance, for one.”

 _That_ catches Draco’s attention, and he stands there unable to do anything but gape at Harry who is still half-dressed and staring back at Draco evenly.

“You said that we couldn’t be ourselves when we were with each other, and that was true,” Harry says. Draco isn’t sure his brain is working enough to reply, and luckily Harry continues, “but I’m not myself when I’m not with you either.”

“I…”

“I want you in my life, and reading your book made me realise how much I was missing without you there. You said it yourself, we’re inevitable.”

“I said Alfie and Victor were,” Draco says.

“We are Alfie and Victor.”

“No, they’re who we could have been,” Draco says, “they were far better than we were.”

Harry swallows, and Draco stares at the marble floor, his brain trying to wrap itself around what is happening.

“I want to give us another go.”

Draco keeps his eyes on the floor to give himself time to think. He’s found looking into Harry’s eyes dangerous.

“Draco?”

“Do you know how much you fucked my head over the first time?” Draco says, looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. “I can’t do that again.”

Draco forces himself to remember feeling hollow when he’d realised Harry wasn’t coming back. The feeling of burning shame each time Harry had denied their relationship.

“It wouldn’t be like that this time.” Harry starts to step forward but thinks better of it. Draco’s grateful. He’s already compromised himself enough by fucking Harry. He worries if Harry tries anything again he’d lose all his remaining common sense.

“What proof do I have of that?” Draco’s not going to be a fool, not again.

“Proof?”

“How do I know you mean it? How do I know you don’t just want to fuck me behind closed doors again?”

Harry frowns, and he looks hurt. “You know it was never like that.”

Draco licks his lips. He knows it wasn’t like that, but he’s tried so hard to get over Harry, and now Harry stands in front of him offering everything that Draco had once wanted. A part of him still wants it. He and Harry not working is one of Draco’s biggest regrets, but he also knows it wasn’t his fault they ended.

“Anything Draco,” Harry says when Draco is silent for too long. “I’ll do anything.”

“You’d go public with me?”

“I’d walk back in there and kiss you in front of everyone if it was what you wanted.”

Draco nearly smiles at Harry’s utter Gryffindor-ishness. The excessive gesture was what he’d dreamed of when they were together, but it’s not what he needs now. He needs something more sustainable. “Is it what you’d want to do?”

“I just want you.”

“It’s been two years.”

“Two years too long.” Draco raises his eyebrows, and Harry gives him a small smile. “You were right, we weren’t good together. I wasn’t ready for a relationship and frankly, I was a shit boyfriend.”

“You weren’t the best,” Draco says. He rolls his eyes when Harry’s smile grows as if Draco has said something charming. “It wasn’t _all_ bad though.”

“We were pretty great together when we weren’t fighting.”

Draco agrees, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. The entire confrontation and confession has left him stripped raw. He feels like a bare nerve, and the slightest touch will set him off.

He stares at Harry’s face. Harry’s never been able to hide what he thinks — not from Draco — and Draco can see it all there plain as day. Harry still loves him, the same way Draco still loves Harry. He wonders if they’ll ever be able to untangle themselves from the path they've been on from the day they met. He’s starting to think they won’t.

“I need more than words,” Draco says, his voice low and firm. He won’t let himself get caught up in false hope and promises again.

“I’ve never been good with words anyway.”

Draco manages a small smile. Harry’s underselling himself in Draco’s opinion.

“And I need time.” Draco supposes two years ought to have been enough time to learn that he’s never going to get over Harry; however, he’s also spent the last two years on the brink of hating him. “I need to think, and tell my friends, and I need to see that you mean it.”

Harry nods, stepping forward and taking Draco’s hand. He doesn’t press for more, and Draco gazes at their fingers and the easy way they slip together after all this time. “That’s okay, I need to tell my friends too.”

Draco can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face, and Harry grins back.

“I’m serious, Harry,” Draco says, not taking his hand away, “if you go back on your—”

“I won’t,” Harry promises. “I’m fighting for us this time.”

Draco’s feels the flutter of hope inside his chest as Harry speaks. Draco knows better than anyone that when Harry Potter’s fighting for something it’s fruitless to stand against it. Draco has no intention of standing against Harry with this one.

* * *

**Epilogue**

 

“Have you read _The Line of Beauty_ ?” Draco calls to Theo as he browses the shelves of _Gay’s The Word_. “It won an award recently.”

Theo makes a non-committal noise from behind him, and Draco rolls his eyes, not bothering to turn around to see whatever book had caught Theo’s interest. Draco was sure it was something that even he would call overly wordy and pretentious. Theo wasn’t a fan of any author whose personal dictionary included the word _concise_.

Draco continues browsing the romance section. He’s warmed up to romance novels again now that things are going well with him and Harry, and if that makes him a sap and a fool he supposes it’s okay.

He hasn’t seen Harry since the Gala — not that Harry hadn’t tried. Draco had meant what he’d said: he needed time to think and to see that Harry was telling the truth about wanting to give them another go and progressing past playing secrets.

They’d been writing to each other — more frequently than Draco’s willing to admit to his friends — and Harry’s letters were always charming and humorous. Harry had written that although Weasley and Granger had been initially shocked when they heard about Harry and Draco’s past,  once they recovered neither of them had been too surprised.

Harry’s been trying to invite Draco to dinner at the Weasleys’ ever since, and Draco keeps telling him to hold his horses. Truthfully, he’s a bit chuffed. He supposes this is what a relationship with Harry Potter is really about.

Draco’s own friends hadn’t been surprised either. Draco had invited them all over for dinner, plied them all with wine, and then begun the speech that he had spent a good two days preparing — only to watch as they’d all pulled a Galleon out of their bags and passed them over to a very smug Theo. Turned out Theo had bet Draco had shacked up with Harry from the beginning. Draco doesn’t know whether to hex or hug his best friend for never saying anything about it.

“Draco.”

Draco’s fingers pause on the blue spine of a book as Harry’s husky tones wash over him. He turns slowly to find Harry standing there, hands in his pockets and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. The sight of Harry in person after the last month of communicating through letters leaves Draco breathless.

“What are you doing here?” is all Draco can think to ask.

“Didn’t you want to see me?” Harry frowns, turning to Theo who is standing there with a shit-eating smirk on his face. Draco decides hexing Theo is the best option after all. “I can go, of course, if you’d rather,” Harry adds quickly, turning back to Draco. He looks terrified, all of his cool posture gone.

Draco’s eyes dart back to Theo who gives him a firm look before mouthing, “ _Thank me later_ ,” and leaving the shop. Theo had clearly gotten bored of Draco’s _umming_ and _ahhing_ over how to suggest a date with Harry. Draco watches him go before turning back to Harry, who’s staring at him looking like he’s about to Apparate out of a Muggle shop.

“I can—” Harry starts.

“No, stay,” Draco says, nodding awkwardly at Harry. He feels like he’s on a first date all over again complete with sweaty palms and pounding heart. “Turns out I was wrong though, telling our friends about us was an awful idea.”

Harry grins, the tension seeping from his shoulders, and Draco as always smiles back. “Ron asked if my Patronus had become a ferret.”

“Weasley’s sense of humour always will astound me.”

“I think you’ll like each other,” Harry says, shrugging.

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Getting ahead of yourself there?”

“Am I?”

Draco lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. “If I meet your Weasleys, then you have to meet my friends.”

Harry’s face breaks out into the biggest smile Draco’s seen in a long time. It’s dazzling and as marvellous as he’d remembered —  the flicker of Harry’s dimple, the slightly wonky front teeth, and the bright eyes. And Harry’s smile is all for him.

“Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” Draco warns, “Pansy will eat you alive.”

“I think I’ll hold my own.” Draco has no doubt he will. “I was nearly put in Slytherin after all.”

“Fuck off, were you nearly put in Slytherin?!”

Harry laughs as Draco gapes at him. “You done in here?”

Draco glances around the shop. They have come a long way since the first time they were in here. It’s still a safe place, but they don’t need it to be their true selves anymore. “Yeah.”

“Fancy going somewhere with me?”

“Where?”

“I thought we could figure it out as we go,” Harry says, offering his hand for Draco to take. Draco gazes at Harry’s outstretched hand, a million memories going through his head. It always somehow comes back to this, to the two of them.

“Sounds good to me,” Draco says. He takes Harry’s hand, entwining their fingers as together they step out of the shop and into the July sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> Latin Translations: Mens regnum bona possidet — an honest heart is a kingdom in itself // In libras libertas — in books, freedom // Semper ad meliora — always towards better things // carpe noctem - seize the night // Ad astra — to the stars // Dulce bellum inexpertis — war is sweet to those who have not experienced it // Amor omnia vincit — love conquers all // veritas vos liberabit — the truth will set you free // Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur — Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time // Eheu fugaces labuntur anni — alas the fleeting years // Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus — Love is rich with both honey and venom
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and i so hope you enjoyed it !! if you did and want to leave kudos and comments below it would mean the world <3 thankyou again
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you enjoyed and want to share on tumblr with a beautiful graphic made for me [click here](http://carpemermaidtales.tumblr.com/post/180142865134/if-we-were-honest-drarry-26k-e-by)


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